


Technology

by rosiedoesfic



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fake Dating, M/M, Slow Burn, bereavement, child oc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 00:24:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 68,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16775920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosiedoesfic/pseuds/rosiedoesfic
Summary: Thirty wasn't supposed to be like this, for Patrick. He's single, lonely and convinced that there's literally no one left on Earth who might be desperate enough to date him. None of his long-term relationships with women have worked out, and Pete has convinced him to get on Tinder to further explore 'dudes' as he did when he broke up with Anna, years ago.Joe has other priorities - touring takes him away from home a lot and sharing custody of three-year-old Ted when he's at home in LA means his options are limited to those foolish enough to be willing to deal with someone else's kid in a city full of hyper-attractive proper celebrities.In solidarity, they encourage each other, give each other date roadtests and compare notes. Patrick babysits, Joe offers advice, and Ted doesn't care as long as he gets to make pillow forts with his favourite person.





	1. Technology - Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Created for the 2018 Bandom Big Bang.
> 
> Please click through to check out [Flow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16779109), the incredible complement fanmix by [Heyginger](http://archiveofourown.org/users/heyginger/pseuds/heyginger), including some beautiful handmade art.
> 
>   
> [ ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16779109)  
> 
> 
> She has been a dutiful and invaluable beta, throughout. ♥
> 
>   
> This story was originally intended to be 5k words and was written as a diversion from the original BBB submissions that Heyginger and I were working on. Prompts were selected for us both to use and two very different stories developed. Her work, Combinatorics, will be posted on 3 December 2018, alongside a complement I have created.
> 
>  **The prompts:**  
>  1\. Start a story with the announcement that there are no more fish in the sea.  
> 2\. We’d matched on Tinder. And now he was here. He was handsome; I was happy. Then I saw the slogan on his t-shirt. 
> 
> **Additional warnings** : Bereavement (loss of a parent as an adult). Private sharing of unsolicited third party dick pics without express consent.

**Technology  
** _Searching, always searching for something to make you glad you're still alive._

_technology_  
**_tɛkˈnɒlədʒi/  
_** _noun_

  1. _the application of scientific knowledge for practical purposes  
  
_



"Okay, it's official - it's literally official!" Patrick half-yelled, pointing vigorously at the news item on the hotel TV, in which Greenpeace were obstructing mega trawlers with banners. "There are literally no more fish in the sea! If that isn't a goddamn _sign…_ "

He threw himself down heavily on Pete's bed, kicking the base with his heel and apparently trying to smother a grimace of pain in his indignance.

Pete stared at him, eyebrows raised and a hand tugging at his own hair, because he didn't entirely know what to tell him. It kind of did seem like there were no more fish in Patrick's dating pool. Sea. Whatever. Which was weird, because he could have probably given him the usernames of about twenty Twitter users who would have sacrificed their fidget spinners to take him to their middle school dances. Although, obviously: gross.

He huffed a little, not used to being unable to immediately fix something by giving someone stupid enough a bunch of cash and some very specific instructions. "I mean, I'd da-"

"You say 'you'd date me' and I swear I'm gonna make sure you have exactly no more kids, Pete."

It was rare that Patrick wouldn't follow up on a threat, so Pete closed his mouth and pulled out his phone for ideas. Ever since he and Elisa had decided it wasn't going to work out - uncomfortably close to an alimony situation - Patrick had had a dogged determination to Move On. _I'm twenty-seven, Pete, I don't have time to screw around - literally or figuratively!_ He hadn't taken kindly to Pete's suggestion that he could probably get another decade out of his imaginary uterus before it became an issue, which was part of the reason Pete had no intention of fucking with him now. He valued his own baby making equipment for its peripheral benefits.

"Well, I mean, like… one day you're gonna have to try dating people you don't already know, or something."

"I know! I know. But it's just… hard."

Pete choked down a dirty laugh. "Um. Totally."

"Fuck you, dude."

He carefully schooled his eyebrows into their more comfortable resting bitchface arrangement. "You know, have you thought about maybe… I don't know, man, giving dudes another shot?"

" _NO_."

"I mean, I'm just saying, like… if ladies aren't doing it for you, right now…"

"I'm the one not doing it for them. Mostly."

"Yeah, but maybe taking a break from women for a bit might - I mean, it worked after Anna, didn't it?"

Patrick couldn't argue with that, and Pete knew that Patrick knew Pete knew it. He could see the petulant frown forming on his face.

"Maybe… I'm not, like, judging or anything, but like… maybe you're kind of barking up the wrong trees or something. At least, right now. Maybe you've got some kind of dudes-only energy going for you, kind of?"

The silence from the sulking grown-ass man in Pete's hotel room was all the evidence he needed to know that Patrick was actively considering his point but trying to pretend he wasn't.

\---

It was a couple of days after the hotel incident, sitting on a tour bus somewhere outside Actual Hell, Texas, in the early hours of the morning with whiskey-fuelled should've-been-wedding-anniversary blues, that Patrick's phone was snatched out of his hand by a tiresomely bored Pete, while he indulged his sorrows and sang _Love Don't Live Here Anymore_ to himself and signed him up for Tinder. Pete suggested Grindr, initially, but Patrick gave him the most withering look he could manage. He knew Pete was still conscious of the threats made against his junk and they'd be home in LA, in a day or two, so he wasn't just answerable to his own pain threshold.

"Not my real name!" Patrick complained, turning from the screen at his elbow and pressing his face into his arms on the lounge table. "I don't want people to know it's me."

"You want me to use a picture of Marcus, too?" Pete retorted, deleting 'Patrick' and replacing it with 'Ricktalife' and then 'Cookiejar', then backspacing until he could type in 'Ric', instead.

"No," Patrick sighed. "I don't think we'd pass in real life, y'know?" He needed to try to retain some credibility if he was going to do this, even if he was at the point where he'd try near enough anything.

Pete uploaded a photo from his own Instagram, of Patrick half-silhouetted against a Chicago sunset, no glasses, no hat, after he vetoed at least six, and filled out his profile.

**_Ric, 30_ **

_Cute. Funny. Musician. Made for the wrong era. Hung like an Italian salami. So modest my friend literally wrote this._

_Looking for someone willing to come second to my first love, Chicago._

"Hung like an 'Italian salami'?!"

"Come on, dude, people like humour! And dick. And salami."

"You can't talk about that on my Tinder profile!"

"I could if you'd let me sign up for Grindr…" Pete muttered, reluctantly deleting the comment. "It's not exactly a secret when you wear pants like saran wrap."

Patrick ignored his comment about kitchen conveniences and tried to steer the conversation back into something productive. "I just don't want them thinking that's the deal, y'know? I'm not in it to hook up with people."

"I feel like maybe rethinking that would… like, loosen things up a little, maybe?" Patrick cast him a look and Pete winced. "Like, socially speaking."

Patrick opened his mouth to chastise him, but Pete didn't let him get that far. 

"All I'm saying is, you're kind of highly strung, lately. Maybe if you lowered your standards for a while, kind of, you'll be feeling a little better about everything and you can kind of move on with a clearer head." _And lighter sack,_ he did not add, but Patrick could see it written across his face.

"Just publish the profile! Publish it, and then we can forget about it when I don't even get any matches, because there are no more fish - not even catfish - in my sea."

\---

Andy had heard the rumblings. Talk of sea creatures and internet apps and Patrick warbling some kind of Tammy Wynette shit in his room at the front of the bus for the past two days… He'd done his best to keep out of the way because he thought he'd survived enough of socially awkward nerds trying to date when both of them were seventeen. And then twenty-ish. And just in general throughout the mid-late part of Joe's twenties in particular, but here they were again.

How the fuck Joe Trohman had spawned an actual child and still couldn't get himself laid with any regularity, was… well, no, it wasn't beyond Andy at all, because he'd actually met the human embodiment of the word 'klutz' and he didn't blame anyone for noping the fuck out of that one until they got to know him. But he'd just hoped some time around 2006-7 that he'd seen his big chance, and had been easily as disappointed as Joe when he fucked it up.

They were finishing up in LA, today, had a couple of days off 'at home' - only it wasn't 'home' for Andy at all - and Patrick was slumped on the green room couch, poking at his phone and sighing heavily in a way that meant he wanted someone to engage him in conversation so he could bitch. Which was one step up from Joe's 'just sit in a corner and do the sad face then insist there's nothing wrong until you stop asking and then complain that you stopped asking' technique.

"Whatcha got?" Andy asked him, aiming for jovial teasing.

" _Literally_ nothing," Patrick told him, flinging both hands out to smack into the couch cushions. His phone slipped out of his fingers and skidded along the seat next to him.

Obligingly, Andy leaned down and picked up the handset, open on Patrick's own Tinder profile. He tried not to snicker openly and covered it with a serious nod. "Well, that's a good start, I guess. You haven't had anyone you'd liked matched to you, yet?"

"Well -" Patrick sighed and Andy didn't have to hear what was coming next to know what the problem was, "- I kind of… I haven't actually swiped right on anybody, yet. It didn't seem right, y'know - I wasn't at home, it'd feel a little rude to get matched with someone who lived on the other side of the country or something."

"You're actually at home like three weeks a year, but sure. I see the problem."

"I know, man. I know you're thinking 'he's not actually trying' but I just… I don't want to waste my time or anyone's by letting them think I'm looking for something casual, y'know?"

"Maybe on some level you just know that this isn't for you?"

"No, I know… I just feel like I should be game and try, y'know? At least then I did everything I could…"

It was later that night, halfway through _Sugar_ , that Andy looked out across the stage and a thought crossed his mind that threw him out so far his left drumstick hit Pete in the back of the head.

\---

The marble apartment floor was cool through Joe's t-shirt and the aircon was blowing directly on his face and it might have been the first moment he felt sincerely overjoyed in weeks, despite and because of the three year old sitting on his belly and treating him like a lame, exhausted pony.

"C'mon, Teddy, cut it out, dude. Nap time."

"No!" he cackled back at him, and Joe tiredly reached up and lifted him off so he could roll over and climb to his feet, one little hand in each of his, toes skimming the floor as he took him back to the couch.

"You wanna watch Monsters Inc again?"

Teddy did not want to watch Monsters Inc, and Joe could easily have cried with gratitude when Uncle Patrick appeared at the door with a new colouring book and the kind of relentless enthusiasm for entertaining children that Joe had assumed was handed out in the maternity ward. It wasn't that he didn't adore his little blue-eyed demon, or that he didn't want to spend literally _all_ his free time with him, it was just that he had not received that particular child's entertainer giftbag. He was eagerly awaiting the age when he could start showing him the movies they all grew up on and put them in matching Darth and Luke shirts.

"Thanks, man," Joe sighed, resting his head on Patrick's shoulder momentarily, as he carefully shut Teddy's bedroom door and joined Joe in the kitchen, wrapped around a cup of coffee like that might leave him, too.

"It's my pleasure, honestly. I get to live vicariously through you both, it's good."

Joe smirked and nodded, pushing a peppermint tea across the table at him. "Payment."

Patrick chuckled and immediately picked up the cup to blow on the beverage inside.

"You'll get yours, dude. The universe would have to be a particular asshole not to let The Kid Whisperer have like five of his own."

"Yeah," Patrick shrugged. "Maybe."

Joe felt bad for him, and he knew Patrick wouldn't want pity - he'd probably fight him over the suggestion - but he knew how preoccupied he was with the fatherhood thing and it had fallen into Joe's lap by mistake and it was amazing and cool and _exhausting_ , but sometimes it didn't feel like it really belonged to him. He'd found out he was going to be a dad a few months before it all went to shit for Patrick, and he'd tried not to draw attention to it in the aftermath, but it was a pretty futile exercise.

"I had a date," he offered, in the hopes that his failure would a least show some solidarity.

"Yeah?" Patrick asked, in that kind of overly light and interested voice he used when he actively did not want to hear what was coming next.

"Yeah - _Paul_ ," he carried on, regardless, dragging out the vowels. "We’d like, matched on an app or whatever, so I thought, sure. I'm home, I got a couple of days, so I agreed and we went to that new place in Highland Park. I don't know that you totally get a real idea of somebody from a, sort of like, 40 word profile and a holiday snap, basically, but I went and he was handsome; I was happy. Kind of… Who's the Hammer guy?"

Patrick hurriedly swallowed a mouthful of tea, looking utterly repelled. "MC Hammer?!"

"What? No! What the fuck is wrong with you? The other one, the toothpaste guy. But anyway. He was good looking like that dude. Blond, chiselled but like, soft chiselled."

"Right. Got it. Good looking."

"Yeah! So, I get there, he's handsome, I'm pretty happy, and then… I saw the slogan on his t-shirt."

Patrick looked up at him from where his elbows were propped on the table as he stirred his tea with interest. "And?"

"'Never regret yesterday. Life is in you today and you make your tomorrow.'"

"Ugh, inspirational quotes? Obviously a dweeb. I mean…" He trailed off, dubiously. "...unless you're into that...?"

"Not just a dweeb, a _Scientologist_. Trying to recruit me. Fucking fuck that, man. Can't trust anybody you meet up with randomly on the internet, these days…"

He watched the smile spread across Patrick's face and break out into a guilty laugh, and smiled back.

\---

That night when he got home, Patrick climbed into bed, picked up his phone, and started to swipe.

\---

Pete was standing in his kitchen, microwaving some baby milk, when Patrick appeared in the doorway from the hall. He was managing to anxiously and simultaneously adjust his hat and crack his knuckles, which meant he'd either accidentally drove 22 in a 20 or there had been a development.

"Dick or jail?"

Patrick's expression flipped from stressed to offended, via _your child is right there_ , and then to flat-out cold sweat.

"I got matched."

"Sweet!" Pete told him, taking the tiny bottle out of the microwave and half dropping it when it stung his fingers. "Crap. Can you feed babies cronuts?"

"What? No! Stand it in some in some ice water for a few minutes, idiot."

"Right! This is why you're my pet genius." Pete hunted through the cupboards for an appropriate bowl. "But seriously, are you going on a date, or what?"

"I don't know," Patrick whined, flipping off his hat and smoothing his hair, before he reset it on his head. "He's… kind of hot. Maybe we matched by mistake, y'know? Like he swiped the wrong way, or something."

"Did he message you?"

"Well, I mean… yeah, but…"

"Go fishing, dude, that's the whole point." He mimed reeling in a particularly combative catch to illustrate his point. "You wanted fish, dude - _fish_!"

"Yeah…" Patrick gave a teenage flail of a shrug. "I dunno, y'know? We're only in town until Thursday night, and then - "

"That gives you a whole day tomorrow, man."

Patrick made plenty of excuses, but he also hadn't changed his phone's lock code in… well, since he bought it, forcibly dragged to the store by Pete and Joe because he was in urgent need up an upgrade from his stone tablet and chisel. To Pete, this was nothing short of an invitation, and he helped himself to the Tinder app to check out the dude making overtures at his best friend.

He was decent looking, kind of husky. Not in any way Patrick's type, and it all made sense, now - he'd assumed Patrick went for dudes taller than him because he was a funsize guy himself and didn't have a whole bunch of choices, but this dude was kind of little, too. Nonetheless, if no one else was biting…

"Oh, hey, by the way?" he said, as Patrick walked back in, drying his hands on his pants. "My hand slipped and you have a date tomorrow with ' _Tom'_. He's… do dudes call each other 'cute'?"

\---

There had been a fight, almost an actual fist fight, when Pete told him what he'd done. But it wasn't Tom's fault that Pete was an asshole, and Patrick would have felt like a complete heel to stand the guy up, so he went. He buttoned up one of the newer, cooler shirts Meagan had forced him to buy when Pete convinced her to take him shopping a few months before - grey with those military shoulder things - and left his hat in a very deliberate spot next to the front door. No gimmicks, tonight. And maybe without it, he wouldn't be recognised.

For the thirty minutes it took to get to the dumpling place and park, he felt pretty positive about the whole thing. And that was about as good as he felt all night. The date was an awkward disaster. Tom didn't seem to like anything on the menu - Patrick could hardly tell him it was Pete's choice, not his - he had a weird verbal tic ' _Haha - bonus!_ ' that kind of started to put Patrick on edge and he declared right before dessert that he thought Prince was overrated. Patrick was glad that there was nothing on his bamboo placemat and they'd taken his chopsticks, because he couldn't go to jail tonight.

To make matters worse, he insisted on walking Patrick to his car, and when he saw that it was a family hybrid, blurted out, "Wow, that's kind of boring for a rockstar, isn't it?"

Patrick hadn't mentioned his real job all night - he'd fluffed the details with mentions of production - and he knew immediately, in his gut, that the only reason Tom had even swiped his profile was that he'd recognised him.

When he pulled into the drive outside his house, he thunked his forehead onto the wheel hard enough that it sounded the horn.

\---

"School of hard knocks, my dude…" Joe told him, pausing in the hall to listen at the bedroom door for the sound of midnight soft toy carnage. "Must be awkward to get recognised by dudes who aren't just in it to milk your residuals for their cult, though."

Patrick's voice on the line was tired and a little mad. "Maybe I should just quit. It's a bad idea, right?"

"It's the twenty-first century, Ric, no personal profile cassette tapes these days… Think of it as like, all those times people would hit on you in bars and you'd duck out of it without actually, like, thinking anything of it. It's basically that, only, like, now it's on a phone. It just seems like there are more assholes because you aren't already wasted."

"I never got hit on in bars… And I just… I miss coming home to someone, y'know? Talking to someone about my day. It's not… Hooking up won't solve that."

Joe nodded to himself, pressing his phone to his ear and remembering when this would have been a cordless house phone and a fuck ton easier to wedge into his shoulder. He opened the fridge and examined its contents. He'd never imagined he'd have this many tiny cups of yoghurt in his possession at thirty. "You wanna come hang out with me? I've got a spare beer and like a million Dora the Explorer Yoplaits if you _really_ wanna party."

"I would," Patrick sighed, and Joe grimaced a little at the audible squelch of him rubbing his eyes vigorously with his fingertips, "but I had a whiskey when I got home and I don't want to risk it. Thanks, though. Save me a yoghurt for tomorrow, on the bus."

When Patrick rang off to go sleep off his misery, Joe set himself up on the couch, _They Came From Outer Space_ on mute on the TV, _Mothership_ on the stereo, and his phone in his hand. Online dating _was_ disheartening - he could take the 'So, you wanna bang?' introductions in his stride ('Yeah, but not with some impolite asshole.') - but Patrick wasn't made for this kind of stuff. He contemplated offering to set him up on My Single Friend or Match or something, but the thought drifted and so did Joe, until he woke with a crick in his neck at 3am and stumbled into his own empty bed alone.

\---

They were back on the road by the weekend, and everyone from Pete to Diaz knew about Patrick's shitty date and had commiserated with him at the LA show, assured him he should try again, and then found a reason to get the fuck out of there.

Pete, for his part, had gotten pretty invested in the success of his buddy's love life. Partly because he sincerely cared about seeing him happy, and partly because the main drawback of being in a happy and stable relationship with a new baby around was that there was no more chasing to be had in his own life.

He was only mildly put out when he discovered that Joe had gotten the scoop on Patrick's weirdo, but he and Joe were kind of as pathetic as each other on the relationship front, only Joe was more chilled about it, so it kind of made sense that they traded ideas.

Pete had taken up residence next to Patrick in his bus bedroom for the journey out to the next venue, watching old episodes of Jeopardy while Patrick muttered his way through matches within 100 miles and occasionally waved one in his face for Pete to approve or veto.

"Oh. Wow. _Verboten_ , man."

"Why? I thought she was kind of okay."

"Yeah, exactly, 'she'. Put your settings back to dudes, man, c'mon."

"I tried dudes… Look how that went."

"You tried _a_ dude. That's barely, like, dipping the tip.."

"That's gross," Patrick muttered, opening his settings and switching it back.

"It's _literally_ what you're trying to do."

"I'm _trying_ to find my soulmate."

"But I'm not on Tinder," Pete pointed out innocently and dodging a swipe from the back of Patrick's hand. He took his phone and gave a few arbitrary right-swipes on the app in retaliation. "Hey - is it me or does this guy look like Armie Hammer?"

"What? Wait! Show me that." Patrick studied the headshot-esque profile picture for a minute - perhaps too long - but just as Pete thought he was going to swipe right, he scrunched his nose up and muttered. "Scientologist."

Pete didn't ask how he knew, he just made a point of picking a few people to swipe right on and by the time they arrived in Phoenix, he'd zoned him down to within 10 miles and swiped at least five local candidates.

\---

"Did you ever try one of these things?"

Andy looked up from where he laid on a mat on the bus floor, propped on his elbows and tiptoes, counting under his breath, and shook his head. " _Fifty-nine… sixty…_ Nope." He set himself on his knees to take a breather. "Is it working out for you?"

Joe gave an ambivalent head tilt. "Between the cranks, the assholes and the flakes? Occasionally."

"Wasn't finding assholes the exact purpose?" Andy asked him, letting himself grin filthily.

"Amongst other things," Joe shrugged, as though it had been a serious question. "I dunno, dude, it's just something Patrick said - about, like, not looking for a hookup, but more like a partner or something… And I figured maybe he has a point, basically."

"He probably does. I mean, it's an app where you choose people based on if you think a picture of them is hot - it's hardly the Shidduch thing your people do."

"Mmm."

He moved himself into position to begin his sit ups with his ankles on the couch.

"Maybe that's a good idea, actually. My mom would laugh in my face, but like… losers gonna lose."

"Hardly the person to give romantic advice, right?"

Joe grinned and patted at his feet. "You're my favourite agony aunt, dude. Aunt."

Andy kicked his hand away, counting more loudly.

"Maybe, I'll just like… delete this whole thing, or something." He got to his feet and leaned down sideways to pat Andy's head as he sat up to palm level. "I'll think about it. Thanks for the advice, man."

Andy laughed to himself through his crunches at the sound of Joe bouncing out of the bus door. If he was gonna give either of them advice, if wasn't anything to do with Grindr. Or Tumblr. Or whatever stupid apps Idiots A and B were distracting themselves with right now.

\---

Joe found Patrick in the green room, showered and dressing way smarter than he usually would for lunch six hours before the show.

He slumped himself onto the couch and pulled a cushion on to his lap, watching him straighten himself up with a grin. "Do you got one?"

"One what?"

"A date."

Patrick nodded jerkily. "Pete fucked with my phone and now apparently, I'm doing coffee with some guy I'm never gonna see again."

"Well, you don't know that, dude. Give it a chance."

There was a non-committal hum and he deflected the point. "What about you? Any news?"

"Nah," Joe shrugged. "I feel like I should take a leaf out of your book or something. Look for something practical, basically."

"See! You get it - why does Pete not get that? It's like, I'm thirty years old, y'know? I want, like, lounge pants and waffles, and Sunday mornings listening to Supertramp in bed, not cocktails and - and… I don't know, man, I don't even know what dates are about, anymore."

"Well, you don't know who you're gonna find. That sounds like a pretty sweet offer, to me. Don't let one asshole bring you down, dude. Only real reason I'm keeping myself on a short leash is Ted. Chrissie isn't gonna up sticks for my sake and I don't see him enough as it is."

He sent Patrick on his way, twenty minutes later, playfully slipping him a condom with a wink, even though they both knew he stood as much chance of using it as he did a nuclear submarine. He spent his own afternoon sitting on the bus, facetiming his folks and his kid and not quite bringing himself to delete the app on his phone, just in case.

\---

For Patrick's part, he actually thought the date went kind of well. At least Pete had swiped on an apparently intelligent guy with a healthy respect for Prince, so when he went to the bathroom right before he had to leave to get back for the show, he was pretty stunned to find the table empty.

He stood in the crowded Starbucks, blinking at the space where his date had been sitting and then looked around in case he'd decided to pick up a coffee to go. But it became very apparent, very quickly, that he'd just gone. They hadn't exchanged numbers, and when Patrick checked his app, he realised that he'd been blocked.

He was too embarrassed to admit it to Pete, when he got back, and the optimistic grin and a thumbs up or thumbs down question from Joe, halfway down a hallway kind of made him crumple miserably a little. He gave him a double thumbs down and shook his head, and when he walked into their backstage space, he threw his whole phone in the wastebasket in the corner and laid himself down on the couch with a donut in each hand.

It could only have been fifteen seconds before Joe appeared, leaning round the door, first, and then slipping in and shutting it behind him.

" _Double_ thumbs down?" he asked, sitting on the coffee table and resting his elbows on his knees. "What was it, Republican?"

"I don't actually _know_ ," Patrick told him, the full force of his confusion whooshing it out of him. "I don't know, because I went to the bathroom and he left. He left. I thought it was going okay, y'know? Conversation was kind of flowing - we had a few things in common - I thought at least a, 'Well, nice to meet you' was a fairly reasonable outcome or something."

"That's shitty," Joe sighed, ruffing Patrick's bangs sadly. "Dude sounds like an actual turd, you probably dodged a bullet."

"You know what? Maybe. But that doesn't even help, 'cause it's just - it's fucking _rude_ , y'know? Was I so fucking dull that he couldn't even bear to wait for me to wash my hands?"

"Maybe he had a family emergency or something - "

"He blocked me. Before I even got out of the coffee shop. He blocked me."

"Ouch. That sucks."

"Yeah. It does. I fucking quit. I'm done. No more dating."

"That seems kind of extreme."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm an extreme kind of guy!"

Joe actually snorted with laughter and covered his mouth guiltily. "Sorry."

Patrick glowered at him for a moment and then found himself chuckling reluctantly at the effort Joe was making not to laugh at him.

"I'm sorry some jerk hurt your feelings, but are you at least gonna eat one of those things, because the frosting's melting on your fingers and my dad senses are telling me to get a wet wipe."

\---

Andy was sitting in Joe's room, watching Skyfall on pay-per-view, when Patrick got back from his next date. Joe obediently rolled himself off the bed in his boxers and t-shirt and let him in, asking him how it went and holding open a bag of chocolate covered cookie dough bites that he sure as hell hadn't bought for Andy's benefit.

"Am I arrogant?" Patrick asked bluntly, grasping a handful of treats and looking between them. "Do I come off as -" he drew the quotes in the air " - 'self absorbed'?"

"Only in the studio," Joe told him, standing right in front of the TV so Andy couldn't see the movie. "Why, is that what this one said?"

"Yes!"

"Well, what did you do?" Andy asked, waving Joe out of his way until he sat himself on the foot of his designated bed, and turning up the volume a little.

"I don't even know! He asked about my job, and I told him I was a musician, and a producer, and that I kind of act a little, and do movie stuff sometimes… But that's all."

"How long did that take?"

Patrick opened his mouth, and then frowned a little. "Well… not long, I mean, the mains came kind of fast."

"So, how long did you talk about your jobs, man?" Andy pressed, patiently.

"Maybe only, like… I don't know. Thirty… maybe, sort of thirty-five minutes?"

"Ooh, you must've left out a lot," Joe teased, stuffing some of his cookie dough monstrosities in his mouth.

"Oh God…" Patrick's hands were pressed to his cheeks, mortified. "Oh _God_."

"Well, there's your problem!" Andy smiled cheerfully and deliberately turned his gaze back to the TV. "Get yourself someone who's as invested as your music as you are, and you're all set."

Patrick looked down at Joe, mournfully, but he was just giggling to himself. "Don't. It's not funny, don't laugh at me."

Even from where Andy sat, considering rewinding the last few minutes of the film to make sure he caught it, he could see that Joe's giggling was making Patrick want to laugh, too. It was sweet, in a way, how close they'd gotten since they worked things out, but it was pretty obvious - to him, at least - that all of this dating bullshit was little more than a diversion.

When the movie ended and Andy headed back to his own room, Patrick crawled into the space he'd vacated on the bed near the window and stretched himself out like he planned to stay.

\---

Patrick almost choked on his room-temperature Evian when he saw it. He'd been scrolling through the app, idly, wondering what the towns outside Dallas could possibly offer as they passed through and had so far not been disappointed by the quantity of hats in frame, even if it was somewhat dampened by the number of dudes who seemed to take the whole pistol metaphor too seriously. There hadn't been any rights, so far, and he'd almost developed a mechanical habit of pushing his thumb off the left of the screen.

The worst part, probably, was that it took him a fraction of a second between _Ooh_ and recognition. It was an old photo, maybe six years or something, all eyes and leather biker jacket, and all that hair from the first time he grew it out. Patrick instinctively recoiled.

"Fuck."

Pete looked up from across the lounge, immediately interested. "What?"

"Nothing…"

"The kind of nothing that makes you shout 'fuck', huh?"

"I didn't shout it!" Patrick snapped, hoping an argument about semantics might save him from any more embarrassment than the wave that had washed over him when he realised he'd leered at a childhood friend.

Pete was too quick, though. Patrick hardly even saw him move before the handset had disappeared from his fingers.

Pete's eyebrows shot up with a gleeful laugh. "Oh, shiiiiit!"

"Okay, stop it - it caught me by surprise, is all, I knew he was dating, we talk about it, I just didn't see him on here before."

"Man. Is it weird that he looks kind of hot here?"

"I hadn't noticed."

"Bullshit! You have eyes."

"Oh yeah, and they're _famously_ great," Patrick retorted, waving at the glasses on his face.

Pete snorted.

"So, what do I do? What's the polite thing to do in this situation?"

"What do you wanna do?" Pete asked, smirking and wiggling one eyebrow at him suggestively.

"Pete, it's _Joe_. Don't be fucking absurd. I'm just thinking - we're travelling, how many people can there _be_ around here?"

"Swipe left, then. He'll never know."

"No - I mean, he almost has to know I'd see it. And you're always like, 'oh, I'd date you' like that's what friends do, y'know, you support each other but it doesn't mean anything."

"Then swipe right."

"But what if that's weird?"

"What's weird is that this even mat-" Pete's eyes went wide as he glanced down at the phone in his hand.

"What did you do?"

Pete edged out of Patrick's reach nervously. "Uh. Well, let's just say there's no need to keep having this argument, dude..."

"Dammit, Pete!"

"It's fine. Just say you thought that, like, it'd be a good friendly thing to do. You guys are tight, he'll buy it."

"Or I could say you fucking did it!" Patrick snapped, trying to yank the phone from Pete's grasp. "And why wouldn't he buy it?"

Pete pulled a face. "I dunno, man, I'm just saying.... Why? Do you think there's a reason he wouldn't buy it?"

"No."

"'Cause… if there was, like, a reason -"

"Shut up."

"I was just gonna say -"

"Yeah, don't."

"But -"

"No. Don't make it a whole thing, okay? I didn't even do this!"

"Well, obviously he did."

Patrick stared at him and then at the phone. Then back at Pete. "What?"

"Well… you matched, dude. Like, instantly. So, it seems like he had to have swiped right on you already..."

\---

Laying in his bunk on his own bus, Joe had been playing round 87 of Candy Crush Saga when his alert sounded, informing him of a match. He paused his game to switch apps and giggled to himself. He'd wondered how long it would take.

He switched back to Candy Crush because he was about to hit a streak, and amused himself for an hour before going to find something to eat in the bus kitchen and call Chrissie to check in on Teddy. It made him lonely, for a moment, when he hung up. The crew guys were all getting some sleep in while they could, because they'd have to get to work as soon as they arrived at the next city, and Pete was hanging out on the other bus with Andy and Patrick. They still had hours before they had a scheduled stop, too.

He picked his phone back up off the table when he sat down with a beer from the refrigerator, and reopened the Tinder app. Maybe he'd message some of the people he'd had a little back and forth with over the last couple of weeks… Sitting at the top of his inbox, though, was the notification that he'd matched with Patrick, and that brought a whole other source of entertainment.

**_Joe_ **

_Fancy meeting you here._

It was only a minute or two before his response arrived.

**_Ric_ **

_Yeah. Sorry pete got a hold of my phone._

There was a pause and then:

_Thanks for swipe-righting me tho._

Joe grinned around his beer.

**_Joe_ **

_Pleasure. Least a man can do for his best dude._

**_Ric_ **

_Lol_

The pause this time was longer, and Joe was just about to switch to WhatsApp for a normal chat, when Patrick replied again.

**_Ric_ **

_I didn't know you used this app._

Joe shrugged as though Patrick were there with him.

**_Joe_ **

_Have to do the switcheroo every so often or the pool goes a little stagnant_

_Seen anyone interesting lately?_

**_Ric_ **

_Everyone on heres an asshole or a creep or has a Smith & Wesson penis extension…_

_Present company accepted._

**_Joe_ **

_Excepted._

_And thanks. Been thinkin about getting rid of the app period latetely._

**_Ric_ **

_Yeah same. can't deal with any more knockbacks and shitty dates._

_Starting to think Im the problem, you know?_

Joe sat for a minute, wondering how to respond without crushing Patrick's already fragile ego but wanting to be honest and actually help.

**_Joe_ **

_I just think you dont make an A+ impression when you're nervous dude._

_We can fix that._

**_Ric_ **

_I dunno. Maybe I shld just quit. Probably gonna be single for the rest of my life or something_

_Maybe I should embrace the bachelor life haha._

_No more dating right now anyway_

**_Joe_ **

_Quitter._

**_Ric_ **

_Another flaw huh._

**_Joe_ **

_Yeah sure you're an asshole -- to yourself._

_gIVE pATRICK A BREAK_

_I like that guy he babysist my kid._

**_Ric_ **

_:) At least Ted doesn't call me an selfabsorbed asshole._

**_Joe_ **

_Hes 3. He'll get there._

**_Ric_ **

_Thanks._

**_Joe_ **

_J/k dude. We both love you and it sucks to see you feelin shitty about everything._

_Not like I'm doing any better right?_

**_Ric_ **

_No?_

**_Joe_ **

_Nope._

_Maybe my dating skills suck too. Or maybe the whole parenting thing freaks ppl out as much as it does me._

**_Ric_ **

_People who dont want a single dad aren't worth your time anyway man_

**_Joe_ **

_Yea. I know. Me and him are a package deal but not everyone wabts a package deal._

**_Ric_ **

_Not everyone wants a selfabsorbed asshole eirher apparently._

_Or I'm bad at dates. Either way._

Joe frowned at his screen and took a long sip of his beer, musing carefully.

**_Joe_ **

_I'll take you on a date if you want. Ill tell you if you suck at dating or if you jusr suck generally_

_(Spoiler -- you do not.)_

**_Ric_ **

_Lol. Thanx._

**_Joe_ **

_I'm serious dude. Lets do a brodate and I'll tell you whats up._

_Maybe you can tell me what I can do too. Besides selling my 3yr old as a chimney sweep and becoming a deadbeat dad._

It took a long time for Patrick to respond - longer than his other pauses - and Joe was just starting to wonder if he thought Joe was mocking him, when he answered simply, _Ok but Im paying._

\---

They decided to wait until New York to go on their date and Joe spent the next three days playfully trailing his plans, even though they kept it from the others so that nobody could interfere or try to prep him with bright ideas.

 _Are we meeting in the lobby?_ Patrick had texted earlier, but Joe had sent back an immediate reply asking him if he usually invited people he wasn't supposed to know to his house to meet before a date. Patrick didn't, because he wasn't an idiot and he had been on tour most of the time this was happening, so he made his own way to the restaurant and waited outside, oddly nervous. More like he had a job interview than a date, though. He still wasn't sure this wasn't an entirely dumb idea, but what the hell, it was just Joe - at least he knew where to follow up, if he ran out on him.

It was a relief when Joe showed up, sauntering down the block with his hands in his leather jacket pockets. It was kind of irritating that someone Patrick knew to be a clunky, clumsy dork could look so cool without even knowing it and he made all the effort in the world and still ended up looking like he was selling newspapers before child labour laws were enforced.

He opened his mouth to say, "Ugh, did you get stuck in those roadworks at the intersection by the bridge?" but Joe reached out a hand, looking him very deliberately in the eye and saying, "Hey, pleased to meet you, I'm Joe."

Patrick blinked at him and then frowned. "I… know?"

"Fucking roleplay it, dufus. I'm roadtesting your date skills."

"Are you ser -?" He looked down at the hand Joe was still holding out to him, and sighed. "Fine. Hi, good to meet you, friend of thirteen years, I'm Patrick."

"Take it seriously, or I'm gonna order, like, a whole fillet cow and make your vegetarian ass watch me eat the entire thing."

Patrick tried not to laugh, mainly to avoid letting Joe think he was funny. "Sorry. Sorry... Would you like to go inside?"

"Thanks, I would," Joe said primly, but he was smiling a little as Patrick held open the door.

\---

" _So_ … what do you do?" Joe asked pointedly, as their waitress walked away with their menus, seeing if he'd fall into the same mistake he'd made before.

"Oh, uh…" He fell out of character for a moment, scratching his ear and blushing. "This is weird. Am I just gonna tell you what you already know, or something?"

"We never met before, you swipe-righted me, remember? Pretend."

"Okay, fine, um… So. Okay, I'm actually a musician, primarily, but I do a bunch of other things around my band. How about you?"

Joe grinned at him, encouragingly. "A band, huh? That sounds pretty cool… Maybe you should send me some of your stuff."

"I'd like that," Patrick nodded, smiling as he started to get into it. "Our lead guitarist is pretty cool. But, um, you didn't tell me what you do?"

By the time their mains arrived, Patrick's inner thespian seemed to have been loosened by two glasses of red wine. He'd been halfway through telling Joe about his siblings and step-siblings, as if Joe hadn't met them all and didn't puke in the kitchen garbage bin at one of Kevin's parties when he was seventeen.

"What about you? Do you have any brothers - or, uh, sisters?"

"One little bro," Joe nodded, topping up their glasses. "He lives out of state, now, though."

"Older, then?"

"Younger - fiveish years, basically. He got the athletic genes, I got the creative ones."

"You're athletic!" Patrick blurted. "You used to run around on stage like you were possessed…"

"How would you know that, Mr Date Who Just Met Me?"

"Shoot. Okay, but seriously - you are."

"So, do you like kids?"

"I _love_ kids," Patrick told him quickly. "I'd really like some of my own, some day." He took a mouthful of his risotto, and hesitated with his fork in his mouth and looked up at Joe a little uncertainly. "Which isn't to say, y'know - urgently. But it'd be nice, at the right time and with the right person."

Joe tried to stifle a telling smile because he didn't want to throw him off, but he could tell he was wondering if he'd get marked down for being too forward with his enthusiasm.

"I have a kid already, actually."

"Aw, really? That's cool."

"Yeah, he lives with his mom, because I'm out of town a lot for work and stuff, but we spend a lot of time together when I'm home."

"What's his name?"

"Theodore, but Ted for short. Teddy, a lot of the time. He's three - four in March."

"That's a cute name," Patrick said, pausing to chew with a slightly mischievous look on his face. "After Roosevelt?"

"Logan, actually. Do you need some water?" he held out the jug in offering, as Patrick choke-laughed at his answer.

"Sorry. I swear I'm taking this seriously…"

It was hard not to laugh along with him, watching him giggle with pink cheeks and eyes glinting in the light of the candle on the table.

Roleplaying strangers meeting for the first time was far weirder than actually being on a date with Patrick - probably because they went out for food all the time, as friends, and they were doing it tonight as friends, only they had to fake-flirt with each other and it kept reducing Patrick to giggles, which in turn made it hard for Joe to be deadpan when he complimented his smile and fed him a mouthful of his tiramisu.

Patrick was true to his word and paid for the meal, even though money was pretty much an irrelevance at this point, and then offered to hail him a taxi back to his hotel.

"I had a really nice time, tonight," Patrick told him, formally, as the taxi signalled to pull over. "Thank you for asking me."

"Actually, so did I," Joe grinned, reaching out and straightening his jacket collar a little. "If this were a real date, I would totally ask to see you again."

"Yeah?" It was a little sad how pleased Patrick seemed by the compliment and Joe found himself a little more pissed off at the people who'd hurt his feelings.

"Totally. I might even let you share my taxi or something," he added, opening the door and sliding across the seat. "C'mon, dumbass."

\---

Patrick left Joe at his room down the hall with a warm goodnight hug and a few slaps on the shoulder, and made his way to his own, the tiniest bit drunk and genuinely bolstered by the evening they'd had. Joe's assessment, in the taxi home, was honest but flattering - _You're like, demonstrably nervous, dude, but like, don't neck the wine at that rate because that's all kinds of red fucking flags_ and _I found you really engaging, actually. Kind of charming. It was also nice to be on a date with someone who didn't go white when I mentioned Teddy... I might even say 'cute' if I didn't know you'd probably punch me for it._

He was pleased with himself. Joe knew him, sure, but Joe was also capable of the kind of brutal, incisive honesty that had cut him down to size on many occasions over the years, and this time he didn't say anything about Patrick that he couldn't already have called. So, maybe some of the problem was with the assholes, after all.

It was just before he fell asleep, shoes and pants kicked off on the hotel room floor, glasses and the TV still on, but his eyelids drooping, that Patrick received a Tinder alert. He opened the app and blinked at the brightness of the screen, blearily.

**_Joe_ **

_Thanks for tonight. I genuinely enjoyed myself._

_Let me know if you wanna do it again sometime. Ill pay._

Patrick laughed to himself, and turned off the TV, dropping his glasses on the nightstand so he had to squint at the tiny writing on his phone.

**_Ric_ **

_So did I man, thank you._

_I'm up for 1-2-1 hangs anytime._

_Off to dream about our totally dreamy date now. Lol._

_Nite._

_XXXXXXXX_

He fell asleep before Joe's single 'x' in reply could arrive.

\---

"So, did the magic happen?" Andy asked, when Joe wandered down to the lobby for bus call, looking like he'd just fallen out of bed and into his jeans, which was a practical impossibility. There was no way in hell Joe would skip a shower when one was available.

"Magic?" he yawned, rubbing at his eye with the heel of his hand.

"Your date."

"Wasn't a _date_. I mean… it was a date, but not a romantic date. A brodate, if you will."

"Like fuck buddies but with appetisers?"

Joe kicked at his shin but Andy hopped out of the way.

Patrick joined them next, looking cheerfully refreshed, and headed straight over to Joe as if he hadn't even noticed Andy standing two feet away. He gave him a one-armed hug and rested his head on his shoulder for a second. Joe just nodded at him, yawning again and bumped their elbows together.

Andy snickered into his breakfast smoothie.

"I got another match, last night," Patrick announced, holding up his phone. "Didn't see it until this morning, but…"

"Good job, lil'dude." Joe patted him on the back. "Maybe you can, like, use your new superpowers on him."

Shrugging, Patrick shook his head. "We're leaving the state, so I can't, but it feels kind of good, I guess, y'know? Feels positive."

"How about you, Joe?" Andy teased, watching Joe's eyes narrow at him. "Any hot dates you wanna tell us about?"

"Yeah, man," Joe replied, grabbing the coffee Henry passed him in a travel cup as he walked past. He lifted his middle finger slowly. "Me and this guy."

"And his four brothers?"

"It does the job," he said, sniffily.

Patrick turned up his nose. "Thanks for that mental image. I'm glad I won't get breakfast any time soon…"

Joe smacked Patrick's cap down with his free hand and Andy laughed to himself at both of them, because for all the bullshit and the bickering that had gone down a few years ago, they were still exactly the same jackasses he and Pete had driven around in a crappy van for years and nothing had changed, even though it also sort of had.

\---

Joe was sitting in the back lounge with Patrick when Pete called to the back of the bus, "Hey, Cookiejar, your girlfriend's outside!"

There was a flurry of movement on the couch next to him and the popcorn they were eating out of the bag while they watched _Blade Runner_ fell all over the floor in the scramble to open the blind. They both cheered at the distant sight of downtown Chicago rising on the horizon.

"Oh, man, it is _so good_ to be home."

"Yeah," Joe agreed, stretching and bending down to clear up the mess before caramel was trodden into the carpet. "Majorly glad that there's no show, tonight."

"Yeah," Patrick nodded, sitting down sideways on the couch and propping his cheek on his knuckles to gaze at the city like it was his high school crush. "Can't wait to get to my mom's place."

"Wow. I'm so glad my company is like, keeping you entertained."

"It is!" he said, tilting his head a bit to look over at him, still resting on his hand in a way that squished his face a little. "But, y'know - home and everything."

Joe nodded. He knew. And he couldn't wait to get off the fucking bus and onto his parents' couch, but he'd kind of hoped that they'd work on a second brodate to iron out his own weak spots. But what did it matter, anyway? He wasn't in a real hurry to find anybody, the only reason he even had the app, still, was because Patrick messaged him through it, occasionally.

Patrick was still looking at him when he turned around from scooping Butterkist back into the bag and dumping it in the trash.

"What?"

"Nothing," Patrick said, but his phone was in his hand and after they parked up in the coach park where the bus would be kept for the three nights they were in town, and Patrick had left to get on a train with his little backpack on, like a fourth grader, Joe found a moment to check his own phone.

**_Ric_ **

_What time shall I pick you up?_

He stared at the message, scrolled back up a little for a clue, but all there were were stupid goodnight kisses from when they were goofing around in New York.

**_Joe_ **

_For what? Also, i could totally have given you a ride home idiot._

It took an hour to get his reply, and he was sitting in his dad's car, coming off the Kennedy Expressway at the exit next to the bookstore where they'd met all those years ago.

**_Ric_ **

_Brodate 2: The Trohmaning._

He grinned to himself, trying not to draw his dad's attention to his amusement, because he knew he'd have to explain the whole thing and his dad would pretend to not know what the internet was, never mind Tinder, and by the time they got home, he'd be talking in riddles to his mom, who'd think Joe was actually dating Patrick, or something, and then she'd spend the next five years lamenting the fact that it didn't go anywhere.

**_Joe_ **

_Aren't you sick of the sight of me yet?_

**_Ric_ **

_I could probably take a couple of hours of your jokes to do my civic duty_

_Anyway you owe me dinner_

**_Joe_ **

_Freeloader_

**_Ric_ **

_Yeah so when?_

**_Joe_ **

_Give me till like 8 so I can hang with my folks a bit._

**_Ric_ **

_Cool. Its a date._

"Wow. Your mom's car? Are we back in high school?"

"We're not judging me tonight, jackass, we're judging you."

"When aren't we?"

Patrick laughed and flicked down his turn signal to pull out into the street.

"So, where are we going?"

"It's kind of a surprise."

"It is, huh? Weird, 'cause I thought this was meant to be my date..."

"Well, yeah, but here's the thing: I got to thinking, y'know? You need to do good on a date, even if you didn't choose where you get to go, so - you're going in blind."

"That's some fucking Ninja Warrior shit, duder."

"It's my duty, as your 'best dude', to make sure you get a full roadtest."

Joe leaned his head against the back of the chair and looked at him as he adjusted his glasses at the intersection and grinned. "Should I have dressed up?"

"What, as like, Batman or something?"

"Like, smart. Nice. Like all my good clothes aren't currently in my mom's dryer."

Patrick looked over at him and cast a glance at the black sweater and jeans he was wearing, scrunching up his nose. "You'll do."

Joe started laughing when they pulled into the parking lot. He knew this place - it had been the local joke amongst the teenagers in the surrounding neighbourhoods, the steak and seafood restaurant that seemed bigshot because it was more expensive than the Lou Malnati's on the strip mall where Patrick's shop was; if you took your date there you were totally getting some.

Nobody took their dates there. Nobody.

"Oooh, somebody's got some high expectations…"

Patrick giggled. "Honestly, it was the only place north of Evanston where I could get a table and wasn't gonna have a bunch of school kids in it, on a Saturday night. But I thought it was kinda funny... I will not hold you to any teenage social expectations."

"Well, I shouldn't think so," Joe told him, unclasping his seatbelt and getting out of the car. "I'm paying, remember?"

\---

Patrick was pretty impressed by the way Joe switched from mocking him to dating him between the car and the door, but he was a little embarrassed by the show he made of pulling out Patrick's seat before taking his own.

"Now who's not taking this seriously?"

"Well, I guess it turns out chivalry's dead because people mistake it for sarcasm…"

"It usually is, with you."

Joe pouted at him a little, and picked up the drinks menu pointedly. "That's a lot of assumptions for a second date with a dude you just met."

The funny thing about pretending not to know everything about each other already, was that they wound up talking about things they really didn't know about each other - stuff that had never come up in conversation before. Stuff that it didn't feel necessary to talk about when they met at sixteen with no romantic pretense.

"So… what do you want in a person?"

Joe almost snorted his wine back into his glass, and then sat back against his chair, laughing in a way Patrick was pretty sure the question didn't warrant.

"What?" he chuckled, uncertainly. "What's so funny?"

When he'd composed himself a little, Joe leaned forward, glancing around at the people their parents' age on the neighbouring tables, both of whom were trying to ignore his giggle fit. "First thing - like, literally, automatically - the first thing that popped into my head when you asked 'what do you want in a person?'..."

"Which is…?"

He could see from the hurriedly stifled splutter of laughter that Joe was very pleased with his personal genius and braced himself.

" _My dick._ "

The loud, involuntary explosion of horrified laughter Patrick spat out, joined quickly by Joe, who seemed completely unable to control himself, by now, definitely drew looks - this time from farther across the restaurant.

"Okay," Patrick tried, eventually, taking off his glasses to wipe his eyes and then picking up the bottle to move it out of reach. "No more wine for Joe."

Joe's forehead was resting on his palm, propped over the corner of the table and he'd gotten himself into some kind of loop, where every time he stopped laughing he remembered how butt-clenchingly funny he was, and started all over again.

"Well, for the record, I do not have any of that in me and nor am I likely to."

"Top, huh?" Joe asked and set himself giggling again until Patrick gave him his most parental look.

"I did not say that. And this is completely inappropriate for a second date, just to be clear."

"Oh, wow, you gonna mark me down?"

Patrick tilted his head from side to side as if deciding. "Yeah, maybe. But there's still time to make up your score."

As was often the case when they hung out, Patrick found himself laughing a whole lot that night, caught up in Joe's infectious drollness and the comfortable familiarity of a friendship less forged than melted like candy at the bottom of a bag, in a wreck of an old van during long summers. He almost forgot they were on a 'date' and that he was supposed to be giving notes, because he was enjoying himself so much, until they were sharing a platter of tiny tasting desserts and he looked up to see Joe watching him with an curious look on his face. His fingers were toying with the paper from a miniature lemon cupcake, and a strand of hair was tucked behind his ear, curling around it in a way that softened his face, somehow. Made him look almost self-conscious.

"So...what's my rating?"

"Your rating?"

"Out of five. Ten, if you want. I mean, like, avoiding half measures to keep things tidy, or something…"

Patrick carefully bought himself time, sucking on the little spoon from a black forest mousse.

"Maybe… I mean, not to be a kiss-ass, but… I like people who make me feel at ease, y'know? People who make me laugh, and you kind of did a lot of both. And -" he held up the glass from his soda "- I'm not even drunk. So, y'know… probably a nine."

There was a little wash of surprise over Joe's face, and he scratched at his sideburn a little before replying, "Oh. That's… I mean, I feel like a lot of that is probably because you know me, dude..."

"Actually… I think it was all you," Patrick assured him. "I mean, I'd probably not talk to a date about your dick or anything, which is why you didn't get a ten, and anyway, technically, this isn't even over, yet."

"It isn't?"

"I didn't even get to my third dessert..."

Walking back to the car, reminiscing about all the places they hung out as kids, they somehow found themselves convinced to do a tour of the old place, just for old times' sake. Usually when they were back in Chicago, there just wasn't time, because of family and press and shows, but tonight there was mischief in the air.

"D'you remember the time that girl - Cara? Carla? - slapped you outside the show The Academy supported us at when they were starting out?"

"Pretty sure I still have the hand print. She thought I was staring at her boobs, but I was trying to read the pin on her suspenders and its shitty itty bitty writing. Like, why fucking wear it if you don't want people to read it?"

They took a slow drive down the bleak, rundown little street the old Knights of Columbus Hall sat on. There were a lot of memories associated with the place - good and bad. It was weird to see it again as adults, tattered and unloved, and empty, tonight. Back in the day, there wouldn't be a weekend night when it wasn't crammed with kids.

"Do you ever, sort of… miss this?" Patrick asked. "The way things were?"

"Miss being the loser everyone laughed at behind his back? Sure. That was so much fun for me."

"Nobody was - "

" _You_ weren't. But you were never clued up on anyone's in-jokes, really, even ones you knew. That's kind of why I used to hang out with you, I think. You were always a good little dude."

Patrick chewed his lip. "So were you, though. I kind of aspired to be as out there as you were. It seemed like you had a ton of confidence, and you completely got yourself, y'know? It was like you didn't give a fuck about what anyone thought. You just did Joe, 24/7."

"In more ways than one," Joe muttered, archly.

"Well, whatever. I liked that guy and I'm glad I still get to hang around with him and babysit his kid."

Joe grinned as they moved back out onto the main street. "And I'm like, super glad to have you to rescue my incompetent ass… And you know…" he said, reaching over and playfully squeezing Patrick's thigh, "while we're doing this whole date thing, you wanna go park up at Camp Pine and make out?"

If Patrick wasn't driving, he might have jabbed him in the ribs a few times, but he settled for turning his nose up a little and muttering. "Ew. _Seven_."

"Damn… that was how I was gonna push it back up to ten."

\---

They didn't go to Camp Pine, where their school friends used to go to hook up in the backs of their parents' cars, but they did drive down to the beach at Gillson Park and get out of the car to look out over the lake. It was near Pete's parents' place, and he used to like to bring people down here and set off fireworks on the sand until somebody called the cops.

"My parents used to bring me here when I was a little kid. Sam fell off a bench when he was three, put three butterfly stitches in his head, which basically ruined my beach day, the little asshole."

"Hey, mine too! When I was really, really small… before Dad left. Kind of funny to think that maybe we used to play here when we were little kids and we never met, then."

"I didn't move here until I was ten, man," Joe reminded him, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets and shrugging as the wandered down to the edge of the sand. "I mean, I visited my grandparents in the summers and stuff, but I didn't start coming here regularly until way later than that."

"Yeah, well, there's still a chance," Patrick said, looking out over the black water, the moon bobbing on the surface, elongated and fractured by the perspective. He was quiet for a few drawn out moments, but it didn't really matter, it was peaceful and easy. Familiar from years and years of spending all their time together, whether they liked it or not.

"So, hey, Joe - long silences on a date are a no-no, so: tell me a secret."

Joe looked at him and frowned. "Huh? Where did that even come from? I kind of liked the silence."

"I may or may not have read some ideas on a couple of lady-centric online magazines…"

"Oh, Jesus…"

"Yeah. So. One time, when we lived in the apartment, Pete really, really pissed me off…" Patrick confessed, seemingly determined to get some mileage out of his research, "like, _really_ pissed me off… so I used his toothbrush to scratch my balls and put it back, but then I chickened out and just dropped it in the toilet for him to find, instead."

"That was you?"

Patrick nodded, caught somewhere between shame and pride.

"I completely thought that was Isaac."

"So did Pete, that's why he put a hole in the closet."

Joe couldn't help but laugh, remembering how vicious Patrick's hungry-and-mad teenage self could be. "You're a dick and a chicken - a dick-chicken, actually - but I'm kind of proud of you."

"Thanks," Patrick grinned, leaning his weight on his other foot to nudge him with his shoulder. "Your turn."

"Seriously? Ugh." He wracked his brains for a moment for something he could share; but the whole point of this conversation was to be vulnerable, he figured, so he went with it. "Okay, but if this does make it back to Pete, I'm totally telling him about the toothbrush."

"Deal."

"Okay. Okay, so…" He took a deep breath to steady the cringe rising up his spine. "I did _not_ lose my virginity with some girl Andy knew in that apartment in Milwaukee when I was seventeen."

"No?" Patrick asked, like he was trying to sound surprised.

"No. No, I didn't even lose it when we had that party when we played the show in the apartment and there was a girl in my room the next morning. I don't actually even know how she got in there..."

"Oh?" There was genuine surprise in Patrick's voice, this time. "That was the story I actually bought, honestly. Mainly because there was nobody in this band who was gonna get laid while Matt Mixon was an option."

"Yeah, well…"

"So… I mean…?"

"Marie."

" _Marie_?" Patrick blurted, looking up at him in what seemed pretty close to genuine shock. "But you'd have been - "

"Yeah. And you're sworn to secrecy, so enjoy that."

"Dude. That… well, I'm looking back at everything a lot differently, all of a sudden."

"Well, you're one of three people in the world that know that, so."

"I'm not gonna _say anything,_ Joe, c'mon. I'm just surprised. I always thought you were way ahead of me."

"I am, for what it's worth, all caught up. Thanks. And I did get to do other stuff, first..."

Patrick nodded and they fell back into a contemplative silence, briefly. "I mean. Thanks for sharing with me."

"Well, for some stupid reason, I guess I trust you. Probably gonna be my downfall or something, one day…"

They stood there for a long time, watching more and more stars seem to blink into life in the distance, until Joe realised that the body beside him was shivering.

"Okay, let's get you home, dude…"

"No, I'm good - I'm enjoying this. I don't wanna leave, yet."

"Well, where's your jacket?"

"In the car, all the way up the street. It was pretty warm, when we got out..."

Joe rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. "You're fucking thirty years old, and you can't remember to bring a coat? Fuck's sake, dude. C'mere." He held open his jacket with his hands still stuffed in the pockets and nodded for Patrick to step back into it, wrapping his arms around him to warm him up and resting his chin on the top of his shoulder. Patrick hadn't so much as hesitated. "I used to do this with Ted, when he was still in that dumb sling thing."

"I always thought that looked cosy."

"It's cosy right until the little jerk takes a shit so monumental it surpasses the limits of his diaper. There's a reason I said 'used to'... Also, this is something else we do not talk to Pete about."

Patrick chuckled tiredly and rested his head against Joe's cheek. "I'm not that stupid. But for what it's worth, you made a ten, in the end… You can tell him that, if you want."

"And let him know we're so tragic we need to have fake dates to kind of like, practise not scaring off prospective partners? Yeah, sure, right after you."

\---

"Soooo…"

Pete dropped himself onto the empty cafeteria chair in the venue's deserted foodhall and drummed his hands on the table. Joe barely looked up from his phone.

"Yup?"

"How's Joe? How's the whole dating thing going? Anything you wanna tell me...?" Pete prodded, wagging his eyebrows.

"Tired. It isn't. And go away."

Pete pouted at him. "Harsh. Can't I be interested in how my little bro's doing, now?"

"Nothing to tell you, man, just like -" he rolled his hand over and over in the air "- going through the motions."

"There are no _dates_ you wanna tell me about?"

"Haven't been dating. No point if you need to spend all your free time in one place to take care of your kid - until the dates are happening in said place. Which they are not and are therefore… not happening."

Pete wasn't completely sure he believed that. He'd been pretty keen to find out where the whole matching situation had gone, and Patrick had been cagey as fuck for days. "There's nobody, like, closer to home or anything?"

"Nope."

"But, like… you still use Tinder, right?"

"That's kind of a personal question."

"Well, yeah, but if you can't trust _me_ , right?"

Joe finally looked up and gave him a tired look. "Really?"

"...yeah?"

"Then yeah. Sure. I am still using Tinder, I am still extremely single and… don't you have teeth to brush, or something?"

Pete blinked at him, and ran his tongue across his incisors, confused. It wasn't unlike Joe to take abrupt conversational turns, but - "Do I have something in my teeth?"

"I dunno man… looks kind of like a hair or something."

Pete pulled out his phone to check with his camera, and it was only the shoulders shaking on either side of the phone in front of his face that made him realise Joe was laughing at him. "Are you cracking up, dude, is that the thing?"

"I am now!"

Neither of them had really noticed Patrick ambling up to join them, hands in his pockets. "You guys planning something horrible again?"

" _No_ ," Pete informed him, indignantly. "Why do you always assume -?"

"Hey, Ric - does Pete have something in his teeth? Like, a _hair_ , maybe?"

The colour Patrick turned was fascinating, and the slap he issued to the back of Joe's head - actually hard enough to hurt - triggered some kind of thought process in Pete's mind, which cascaded through his brain like some kind of Heath Robinson contraption, pushing ideas and bits of memories together to manifest itself just outside of his grasp. There was _something_ going on here. An in-joke that Pete wasn't part of, which was irritating enough, but the way Joe looked up at him, giggling mischievously in a way he hadn't seemed at all in the mood to do, two minutes ago… the way Patrick blushed back at him and gave him a meaningful glare, like Pete was supposed to be kept fully out of this loop… Like it was _private_.

It made him wonder, just a bit, if maybe there really was a reason that Patrick was being cagey.


	2. Technology - Part 2

_I'll be sitting on the left side, you'll be sitting on the right_ _  
_ _Dying to share our problems, make everything alright_

  
  


There was something weird about the peace and quiet of being back home in his house all alone. On tour, at times - a lot of times - Patrick had wanted nothing more than for everyone to disappear and leave him alone so he could have time to himself to just write, or watch a film, or look at all the attractive people on Tinder who wouldn't want to date him, and then pathetically jerk off about it.

The reality of actually getting there and dropping his bags in the hall and having no one to call, 'Honey, I'm home!' to was a lot more depressing than he'd remembered.

He went around the house opening windows and throwing his the contents of his tour bag into the laundry, and then had a nap, face-down on the bed. When he woke, he blearily picked up his phone, and experienced a little lurch of excitement to find a few notifications on the screen. A link from Pete of some hideous sneakers he'd seen (and had probably bought, by now), one from his mom hoping he'd got home safe, and two from Joe. The first was in WhatsApp, a photo of Teddy and the back seat of Joe's car covered in chocolate with the message, 'Welcome home dad >:['. The other was in the Tinder app, a screenshot with a photo of a dick that definitely did not belong to Joe, along with the note, _Is there enough lube in the world?_

Once he'd recovered from the awed and horrified giggles it prompted, he dragged himself out of bed and back into the living room to curl up in the corner of the couch, replying, _Possibly if you wanna end up like the Brooklyn-Battery_.

Joe was quiet for a while, but as he had the app open and Pete not peering over his shoulder, Patrick found himself idly browsing potential matches, swiping a few right, here and there. Now that they were home for a while maybe he should try more earnestly to meet someone. Maybe, next time he came home from tour, he wouldn't get back to find nobody waiting for him…

It was flattering when a couple of people he genuinely found reasonably attractive - in their photos, at least - matched and messaged him greetings. He wasn't really ready to chat to them, tonight, but maybe tomorrow, or… eventually. It was a boost just to feel like someone was interested.

It was late when Joe finally replied. The TV was showing him repeats of Iron Chef and he was drowsing a little, half dreaming a new melody.

 **_Joe Trohman  
_** _accidentally got a date with the dick guy_

 **_Patrick Stump  
_** _Ouch?_

 **_Joe Trohman  
_** _One way to find out_

Patrick snickered to himself as he got up to get himself a glass of water and tapped out a response.

 **_Patrick Stump  
_** _If it doesn't work out give him my number.  
_ _When's your date?_

 **_Joe Trohman  
_** _Tuesday night. You wanna babysit for science?_

 **_Patrick Stump  
_** _Sure.  
_ _You wanna entertain me cause Im awesome company tomorrow?_

 **_Joe Trohman  
_** _Always._

Before he went to bed, that night, not wanting to be left behind, Patrick took a look through his matches and messaged two who looked like they might not run out on him in the middle of a date. He was only a little disappointed that no one had sent him dick pics.

\---

What 'Phil' apparently benefitted from in the trouser department he'd clearly exchanged for personality. Which was probably why he used dick pics as a lead in. An astute move, because regardless of the fact that Joe realised forty-five minutes into the date that he was thinking more about the fun Teddy and Patrick would probably be having without him, he was pretty interested to get a first-hand meeting with the legend he'd been promised.

It was late when the taxi dropped him back at Patrick's. He let himself in the side door, sobering up in the fresh air and after the black coffee he'd picked up before hailing his cab, and walked into the living room to find Patrick propped on his hand, sleepily. Beside him, in a little bed made from two easy chairs pushed together, Teddy was sleeping peacefully, one leg out from under the blanket as usual, his thumb in his ear because obviously Joe's kid was going to be super normal.

"Hey!" he said, in a stage whisper, creeping in and walking round to check on the sleeping toddler a little more closely before he sank down onto the couch beside Patrick.

"Hey…" Patrick sat up. "How was it?"

"Alarmingly legitimate."

Patrick squinted at him for a moment, clearly having forgotten in his sleepiness. "Oh - hah. I'm glad you had a good time…"

"I feel like 'good' might be overstating it, actually," Joe admitted. "The conversation was… rudimentary... and almost entirely about his workout regime, which… I felt like I could've set him up with Andy, maybe? But last I heard, Hurley Burley's more Grand Canyon than Devil's Tower, if you get my meaning."

"I definitely get your meaning because you are not _remotely_ subtle."

"Yeah. So. I was thinking how much I'd rather be watching cartoons with my lil' dudes for most of it. The date part, I mean. The whole thing was morbid curiosity, anyway."

"And are you satisfied?"

"The curiosity was."

Patrick pulled a face and Joe wasn't sure if it was a grimace or a hastily smothered grin. "Sorry, man."

Joe shrugged. "It's cool, he wasn't even my type so I gave it a courtesy shake and noped out. But I got a story out of it - one for the 'annals', if you will."

He smiled at the reluctant snort of amusement Patrick gave and chuckled along with him, catching the yawn it turned into, too.

"You're tired. You want me to pack up the little man and scoot?"

Patrick shook his head. "He's settled. I can flip out the sofa if you wanna stay. Unless you wanna risk waking him up taking him to the guest room?"

"You sure? I thought you have a brunch date or something, tomorrow. And he has pre-school, so..."

"I do, but you guys can hang out here if you want. I don't mind. It's not like he's gonna miss a pop quiz if he doesn't go, and it's fun having you both around."

The prospect of just crashing out right here was far too appealing to turn down. "Okay, if you're sure we won't get into your way."

Patrick shook his head, yawning again and standing up, pulling his shoulders out to strange angles as he stretched. He had the same rosy-faced look as Ted, when he was sleepy; innocent, almost, if you didn't know better.

"Was he good, at least?"

"Yeah. We played in the yard and ate SpaghettiOs for dinner. Then we looked at dinosaurs in one of my books until he'd had enough and wanted to go to bed."

"Thanks, man," Joe said, standing up to give him a hug. He wrapped his arms around Patrick's back and they lingered just long enough that, for a second, it almost seemed like Patrick might fall asleep on his shoulder. "Now, go to bed, I can figure this stuff out."

He took the bedding Patrick got him from the linen closet and insisted on setting up his own bed so Patrick could get his beauty sleep, then checked on Teddy before he bunked down on the pull-out. It always amazed him how well Patrick handled kids. Especially his kid. Teddy wouldn't even stay the night at Chrissie's sister's place without a tantrum, and he had two cousins to play with there. But Joe wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Sometimes, he sort of thought that Patrick offered more to satisfy his unfulfilled dad instincts than he did to help Joe out. Whatever it was, he was grateful and he figured he should make the most of it before Patrick had more important things and people to do.

\---

When they'd just come off tour, more often than not, none of them wanted to see each other for a while, just to get some space. So, although they'd texted each other movie news and memes, it wasn't weird that Andy hadn't spoken to Joe for a couple of weeks. He'd tried calling the night before, but there was no answer, except a text later in the evening - _Hey. Sorry we were watching a movie._ When Andy had texted back, intrigued, asking if he had a date, he'd half-known what the answer would be.

_Totes. Me and Patrick were having a can't get laid veg out as a reward for officially hating everybody in LA._

"So, is it a Thing, yet, or…?"

Joe was munching his way through a bag of chips on the other end of the line and his voice was a little muffled. "A solidarity thing."

"So, how much have you been hanging out?"

"I mean, you could say kind of a lot… People here kind of suck."

"How much is 'a lot'?"

He could hear Joe sigh defensively and rustle his chip packet. "You _live_ with your best friends, dude."

"Well, yeah, but we're like the world's lamest frat house…"

"Daily," Joe admitted, reluctantly. "But it's pretty much about Teddy, I guess. Ric likes spending time with kids, my kid likes spending time with him… I like spending time with my kid, but I _really_ like spending time with my kid when some other joker is kind of like, voluntarily playing horsey. I don't have the back for it."

"Oh," Andy nodded, putting his phone on speaker while he rifled through his own cupboards, because Joe was making him hungry. "Does Chrissie know you watched _Hannibal_ with her three year old?"

"Teddy wasn't there last night, dumbass, he was asleep."

"Well, if you're hanging out with Patrick a bunch, but it's only because of Ted, then - "

"You're a smart-assed offspring of a lady dog, you know that?"

"Spent enough time in detention for it, so…"

Joe snorted and the rustle of crumbs being poured out of the bag almost sounded like the line was about to cut out. For a moment they were quiet, and then Joe spoke again, more seriously this time. "I know you think you're like, Patti fucking Stanger or something, dude, but I don't need anybody matchmaking for me, basically. I'm not even that into dating, right now, I'm doing fine."

"So, are you not dating people?"

"I date," Joe told him tartly. "Patrick looks after Ted for me, actually."

"And is he dating?"

"Well, it's Patrick, but yeah, in so far as he ever does, he's dating. He pretty much goes out, meets up with some guy, tells him he's wrong about music for two hours and then they don't call, or he doesn't call because their opinion on _Xpectation_ is wrong and he doesn't want to date someone with shitty taste."

Andy threw a bag of popcorn into the microwave and jabbed at the buttons, biting down the urge to ask if this felt like a familiar scenario at all.

"He's actually out on a date tonight," Joe continued, and he had a way of talking when he was trying not to sound defensive, light but tight, and that was definitely familiar.

"Yeah?"

"A second one, for your information. They went for coffee a couple days ago and decided they needed a little longer to argue about the better Bowie album."

"Damn. I'm sorry, bud."

"Yeah. I've watched so much Pixar today, _I'm_ starting to feel computer generated."

It was hard not to laugh at Joe's persistent deflections. "I've always thought you were like a cartoon character."

"I've always thought you were like an asshole," Joe retorted. "But seriously, dude, everything's good. I like his company, we both have a bunch of downtime… we're backing each other on the whole dating thing. We're like… wing bros or something."

"Well… good. That's good. I'm glad it's working out, but what happens after date number three, when - ?"

"I gotta go," Joe cut in, and Andy wished he could have filled a bet about when it would've happened, because Joe's avoidant streak was legendary. "Need to like, issue an eviction order on the closet monster or something. Nice to catch up, man, please come again. Bye!"

\---

" _Hey, ol'buddy, ol'pal, you wanna come hang out with your best dude and some pizza and the wee man? And when I say 'do you wanna', I mean 'please'. I can't watch Cars again. Call me. Unless you're still on a date in which case… quick work, sex machine."_

Patrick snorted at the voicemail and pushed himself off the bed, tapping at his handset as he headed for the shower. It was already early afternoon. He'd stayed up late, after he got home - alone - a little hopped up on adrenaline from having a throw down argument in the parking lot about _Station to Station_. On the one hand, it kind of turned him on that someone was that passionate about an album, it was just a shame he was passionately fucking wrong.

What he needed, after a frustrating night of disappointment, was hangs with two people whose opinions he respected, even if he didn't agree at all that Dory was a 'stupid poo bum'.

"Am I a bad parent?" Joe asked, without so much as greeting him at the door. There was still chocolate above his eyebrow and his hair had been knotted out the way hastily. In the background, he could see Teddy on the couch, bouncing on the cushions and yelling what sounded like, 'bark', surrounded by a carpet of Lego.

"No, you just have a bored three year old and no yard to play in," Patrick assured him, patting his arm as he walked in, trying not to laugh fondly because Joe could be sensitive when he was stressed, and automatically kicking off his sneakers. "You want me to look out for him while you take a shower?"

Joe gave an _augh_ of relief and disappeared towards the bathroom, calling, "Yes, God yes."

"Maybe we can take him down to the play park or something, when you're done? I'm pretty sure that's what his terms are."

If Joe replied, it was muffled by the sound of running water.

An hour later, Patrick was pushing a laughing three year old on a swing while Joe idly pushed himself back and forth on his toes on the big kid swing next to it.

"Seriously - he said it was 'pretentious'! What the _eff_ , man?"

"Yeah, well," Joe shrugged, "Maybe pretentious is calling one of the best albums of all time 'pretentious'..."

"Yeah! Yeah, thank you! Exactly."

It was nice to talk to an adult who wasn't a fucking idiot, even if Joe was a little avant garde, at times. He and Joe had definitely had their fights over the years, on everything from their own songs to whether to keep ketchup in the fridge or not (obviously, not), but they got each other where it mattered. Pete may be Patrick's best friend, but lifestyle-wise, they were chalk and cheese. He and Joe, on the other hand, were way more similar - they both just kind of enjoyed the simple things: good music, good company, terrible movies and junk food.

He looked at Joe sitting with his elbows hooked around the chains on his swing, watching his boot scuff at the dirt, and smiled a little. At least they had each other, right now. LA was kind of a lonely place when you were an excruciatingly uncool introvert.

"Did you get any more matches?" Patrick asked, although there was a part of him starting to dread Joe meeting someone he actually liked, because it would almost certainly mean their hangouts would peter out, and he wasn't making any progress of his own, so far.

Joe shook his head. "Nah."

"Nobody?"

"I know that, like, I should be lowering my standards at this point, but eff it. I'm not gonna just like, settle for any a-hole, pun fully intended. Not with this little dude to think about…"

"I don't think you should lower your standards, for what it's worth, y'know? You're a decently attractive guy, you're financially secure, that already makes you a better catch than a lot of other men…"

"'Decently attractive', huh? I mean, calm down, dude, don't overdo the praise or anything…"

"You know what I mean."

"Hmm. I also know we live in La La Land. You know who else is single right now and lives here? Chris Evans. The better looking Hemsworth. A bunch of celebrities whose names I don't care to know. Being 'decently attractive' is like… I may as well have never gotten my teeth fixed and then replaced my eyes with pinecones."

"Right, sure. But you do know you're a celebrity, right? And easily the most attractive guy in our whole band? Right?"

Joe cast him a dubious, sidelong look. "Pretty sure that you and my mom are the only people who think that."

"Well… not everyone wants to date some A-list stud, man. Some people just want a quiet life. I mean, you got me on the Liam Hemsworth thing, but…" He shrugged and slowed the swing to carefully lift Teddy out of it by his outstretched arms. "I'm not looking for a trophy, I'm looking for someone to make a family with, y'know? That's why it matters that someone on that stupid app doesn't hold ridiculous opinions I can't respect. If I got to spend my life with someone of an equivalent kind of attractiveness to you, who was into what I'm into, or at least cogent enough to form a half-sensible opinion on it, I'd consider myself a pretty lucky guy."

\---

When Pete invited Patrick over for lunch, it was kind of a test. One that he failed - or succeeded in, depending on your perspective - with spectacular gusto.

"Oh, sure! I'm pretty sure we're free Saturday, I'll check with Joe."

"'We', huh?"

"Yeah - and it'll be nice for Teddy to have someone to play with, y'know? He doesn't have any brothers or sisters, yet, so he just gets to play with kids at his pre-school and Joe doesn't really have an 'in' with the moms to figure out playdates, y'know? I think that's a half of the problem, really."

"So, basically, we're cooking for three is what you're saying?"

"What? Oh. I mean - I just assumed the invite was open, because it'd seem kind of mean to have to say, 'Hey, dude, I'm off to hang out with our other best friend and his family. You and your kid are not welcome.'" There was a deliberate pause and a distinctly leading, " _Right_?"

"You sure he's not actually _your_ kid, dude?"

"Oh, you're Bill fucking Hicks today, huh? Of course he isn't. And for the avoidance of doubt, I barely even met Chrissie before things got… expectant."

"Wasn't the joke, but whatever."

Obviously, Pete was on high alert the whole of lunch, looking for quickly-smothered slips of affection when they forgot their company, until Meagan glared at him so hard he thought the expression might stick and they'd both be stuck with resting bitchface indefinitely.

The weird thing was that there wasn't any. They didn't actually behave any differently with each other than they did on the tour, and he couldn't quite decide if that was significant because it meant nothing that Andy had told him had any foundation - which would shake his whole worldview in itself - or if it was significant because it meant he'd missed a whole bunch of weirdness for a very long time.

When it did get weird, was when the curly-haired kid in the tiny Maiden shirt tripped over his own feet chasing the dog and skinned his chin on the paving around the pool, and they both launched themselves to the rescue, only for Teddy to reach his little fat hands up to Patrick. Joe actually looked relieved, grabbing a clean paper napkin from the table to pass to him to catch the blood. He'd always been kind of a wuss about pain and injuries. He actually passed out for a second once, when Dirty dislocated a finger and it stuck out at a weird angle until Charlie yanked it and it slipped back in place. So, maybe letting Patrick deal with it was strategic - nobody needed to faint while holding a screaming kid, next to a pool.

In the kitchen, as Teddy sat on the counter with his cheeks blotchy and tearstained, it was Patrick who cleaned up his chin and stuck a Spider-Man bandaid on it, while Joe looked faintly queasy at the blood and stood a little behind him, out of the line of sight, rubbing his back and telling him what a 'brave lil' dude' he was. After, when Joe picked him up and settled him on his hip, still snuffling, and tried to distract him with a cookie, Patrick leaned in a little, wrapping them both in a one-armed hug for a moment, and there was a softness in the way Joe looked down at the top of the head on his shoulder, and smiled.

Pete cast Meagan a pointed look and wiggled his eyebrows, and she didn't glare at him, this time, so he figured that probably meant he was at least a little bit validated.

He felt a little more validated when it got to early evening and Joe decided to leave and take Teddy home to Skype his mom and put him to bed, but encouraged Patrick to stick around without them, in spite of his protestations.

"You know you got all gloomy when they left, right?" Pete asked him, handing him a beer as he leaned on the balcony and sighed at his phone, swiping left after left with an air of _fuck you - and you - and especially you_.

"No, I didn't."

"I mean, like, I've got living proof right here, buddy." He waved his hand at Patrick and his deflated demeanor. "Anything you wanna tell your super best friend, kind of?"

"No."

"You're not, like, wondering if -"

"No."

Pete wasn't going to be distracted that easily. "So, what's the deal? You're hanging out with each other like, every day - his kid went for you instead of him when he face planted…"

"I can't believe you're trying to read stuff about my sexlife from the actions of a three year old who fell down."

"I'm just saying, man - you're looking, he's looking, and from where I'm looking, you've got a good thing going…"

Patrick thumped his forehead to the mouth of his bottle wearily. "God. Sometimes I wonder why I ever assume there might be a chance you _won't_ connect dots to make a picture of one giant dick, dude."

"I'm just saying: when you've got kids, the biggest hurdle is 'will they get on with my new lady?' - or, like, 'dude' or whatever - and clearly, that's totally not even a thing, here. Ted 'Theodore' Trohman is your number one fan. I mean, except for me, obviously."

"Yeah, so. The thing is - and this may kind of come as a shock to you, you weirdo - but your friend's kid kind of liking you is not a good enough reason to, what - date? sleep with? set up home with? - that friend. That's not how this works."

"Well, yeah," Pete shrugged, pushing the bottom of Patrick's beer bottle carefully, to guide it up to his lips in the hopes of lubricating his inhibitions into hibitions, because he was pretty suggestible when he was drunk. "But if you did have the other things covered, then… like… why not go for it?"

\---

They were sitting in Joe's kitchen, eating spaghetti at the breakfast bar after Ted had gone to bed on Sunday night, when it started. Joe had gotten used to Patrick over analysing every single thing that happened in relation to his Tinder escapades, but this time his problem had moved on from 'Why don't they like me when they meet me?' to 'What am I saying that's putting off the ones I never get as far as meeting?'.

Joe didn't entirely mind; it was a valid question, but not one he felt entirely sure he could answer given that his first interaction with Patrick had been verging on a fight and he was still here, sharing his parmesan with the little nerd.

"I mean, like…" he shrugged, trying to say something useful, "maybe you need to try offering more than just your smarts, you know?"

"I'm not gonna dumb myself down, Joe, I -"

"Not saying you should 'dumb yourself down', I'm saying that maybe you could like… Lead from the front, like our good pal Phil My Dick…"

It probably wasn't helpful that Patrick was in the middle of sucking his pasta into his mouth at the time, because he almost choked on the suggestion and the marinara sauce. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" he demanded, eyes watering.

"I don't mean dick pic introductions, dude, although... you may as well, seeing as you've apparently got enough to brag about. I just mean, like, flirt. Play the game. Most people aren't on Tinder looking for somebody to critique the pop-culture of the 1960-1989 period, basically…"

The weary, despondent hunch of Patrick's shoulders over the breakfast bar as he rested his cheek on his hand was semi-tragic. "Yeah, well. Maybe that's all I'm good for. If flirting was something I was actually _good at_ , maybe I'd do it in real life, instead of on some lame app, y'know?"

"Well, alright. Maybe that's something else we need to do for science."

Patrick turned his face to look at him, cheek still squished against his knuckles. "I mean…" He looked at Joe's face for a minute and then guiltily tried to hide a smile.

"What?"

"Well, it's just… We've known each other like, thirteen years or something, now?"

Joe frowned at him a little, wondering where this was going. "...Yeah?"

"And in that time, I have… _definitely_ seen your pick up moves, so…" he trailed off, chewing his lip to choke down his laughter, casting him little sidelong looks. And Joe thought that maybe Patrick should do a lot more of that on his dates than in his friend's kitchen. "Maybe I'm not the only one who could use some… help."

"Thanks, Casa-fucking-nova," Joe retorted, sniffing with mock-indignation. "If you don't want my help, don't take it."

"I'm sorry," he said, grinning his stupid, cheeky grin, which meant there was no way Joe could continue to pretend to be offended. "I'm not saying you're awful, but… maybe we both need the help."

Joe nodded at him, pensively, picking up his glass to swill the idea with the wine. "Okay," he said, finally. "It's a deal. A flirt-off. You show me yours, I'll… laugh a little, anonymously put it on Reddit and pretend it's real for karma, then I'll… show you how it's done."

\---

It was kind of stupid how, laying on his couch in the early hours, Patrick would hear his phone buzz and feel a little twist of a thrill in his belly, even though he already knew it would be just some faux-flirty message from Joe. Maybe the sound of the notification was programmed into his reward receptors or something, because he kept clamoring for his phone to see what he'd said.

They'd been continuing the same conversation for three days, so far, a long string of innuendo and leading questions that he was pretty sure neither of them answered seriously.

 **_Joe  
_** _I'm thinking of heading to bed_

 **_Ric  
_** _Aw. Alone? Do you need some company?_

There was a longer pause, this time, and he imagined Joe belly laughing on his couch. He smiled to himself, too. It had actually been kind of fun. And kind of nice, on a personal level. He woke up that morning to find a message already waiting for him - _Good morning, handsome_ \- and it had been the same before bed, too; he'd get home from Joe's or Joe would leave his, and they'd message each other as strangers for a couple of hours, being absurdly flirty and borderline inappropriate, and then they'd say goodnight and it was good, just for that moment, to feel cared for.

In real life, he probably wouldn't feel comfortable asking any of his friends if they preferred to top or not, but that was where the conversation had gone the night before and he'd giggled his way through it with his toothbrush in his mouth. He didn't know much about queer culture or what he was supposed to say, because he'd only really dabbled at its edges, but he'd felt both mortified and validated when Joe told him he had _'power bottom written all over you'_.

Which was fine, Joe said, because he liked a man who knew what he wanted and personally he liked to get tied up and ridden like a space hopper. At that point, Patrick had inhaled some toothpaste and his throat had hurt all night, which sort of affected how flirty he was feeling. He'd also laughed in Joe's face when he saw him that morning, because the whole conversation had been ridiculous and the space hopper image had jumped back into his head, uninvited, as soon as he opened the door.

But now, sprawled on the couch in his living room, one leg dangling off the cushions, he read Joe's reply and he wasn't completely sure how to respond.

 **_Joe  
_** _Actually yeah. You want to come back over? I'll let you be the little spoon._

The slightly pathetic thing, in Patrick's mind, was that it actually sounded kind of nice, the idea of being spooned to sleep. Even coming from one of his closest friends. He started and deleted a couple of replies, before finally hitting send on, _Sounds nice but I had a couple beers, so._

Joe's reply was swifter this time.

 **_Joe  
_** _Oh sure. I see how it is, you big ol' lush._

 **_Ric  
_** _I drink to forget how tragic and lonely I am. Maybe another time. ;)_

 **_Joe  
_** _Maybe. Maybe.  
_ _G'night sexy lil' dude._

Afterwards, Patrick switched to WhatsApp and sent another message.

 **_Patrick Stump  
_** _9.5/10_

 **_Joe Trohman  
_** _You can't do half points in an out of 10, dillweed._

 **_Patrick Stump  
_** _Then I guess that's a ten._

 **_Joe Trohman  
_** _Damn right it is  
_ _You're only like six tho_

 **_Patrick Stump  
_** _Wtf? Why?_

 **_Joe Trohman  
_** _Taxis are a thing._

\---

Andy was halfway into a mushroom burger on the patio overlooking the lake at the back of Fuck City when his text conversation with Patrick took a slightly weird turn. He'd busied himself with fries for a minute and received two notifications in fairly quick succession. He didn't really think much of it until he wiped his fingers to pick his phone back up and found a message that made his eyes widen.

_I've got something meaty you can eat right here._

Beneath it, thankfully, was a hurried apology.

_Sorry! That was for Joe!_

Which was, on one hand, a relief, but also begged the question, _Ok what?_

There was a somewhat pregnant pause in the conversation, and a feeble attempt to change the subject.

_How's your burger?_

Andy was not letting this slide, though. _It's good, but not as good as the reason you gotta have to be sending Joe lines from porn._

It wasn't long before his phone was vibrating and Patrick's name appeared on the screen. Andy smirked at it, knowing that Patrick would be panicking and speaking too fast and there would probably be a 'here's the thing' within the first fifteen seconds.

"Hello?"

"Hey. It's me."

"It sure is."

"Yeah. So. Listen - this is the thing -" _close enough_ "- I kind of messed up and got my conversations mixed up, so that wasn't for you, and you should totally just, y'know, forget about it."

"It's kind of scarred into my eyeballs, Ric, that's gonna be… well. _Hard_."

"Yeah, I know. It wasn't for you. And it was just a joke, so you totally do not need to share what you saw with Pete, or Joe, okay?"

Andy grinned and furrowed his brows, perplexed. "Does Joe not know you're sexting him?"

"Of course he knows! But - okay, don't call it sexting. It's not 'sexting', it's flirting. Just flirting. For science."

"For science?"

"Yeah, just like… training, y'know? We're helping each other out, because it turns out we both kind of suck at dating. So we just… decided to run some stuff past each other, that's all."

"Well, I mean, if you're inviting your pre-date matches to eat your dick, then that's obviously necessary. Although, it does sound like something Joe would think nothing of, so maybe he's not your best audience."

Patrick gave a resigned little sigh. "Yeah…"

"But anyway, while you're on the line, how are you doing? Really, I mean." Patrick was a little less obtuse than Joe, so maybe Andy ought to ask him what was going on, instead.

"I'm fine. Good, actually. It's nice to be home and have company a lot of the time, y'know?"

"You mean Joe and Ted?"

"Yeah. We've hung out a bunch…"

"So I heard… Is that anything to do with the sexting?"

"No - no, we just, I mean… you can't spend your whole life alone, or with a three year old and nobody else, right? And it's _not sexting_!"

"Well, I'm glad, honestly. It's good to know you guys are looking out for each other."

"We are," Patrick assured him, and there was a softness in his voice, now, quietly wistful.

"You two have always gotten along great, when you weren't cat fighting like a pair of girls. Maybe now you're both a little older you can make the most of it."

"Maybe."

Andy wasn't totally sure whether Patrick got his meaning at all, or if maybe, on a certain level, he really did and it was Joe that was lagging behind.

\---

Joe sat on Teddy's bed for a long time, after he fell asleep on Saturday night, absently stroking his hair and flicking through the pages of his bedtime book, not really even looking at the pictures.

It was the first evening in what seemed like a long time that Patrick wasn't around, and Joe was bored and boredom made him introspective and introspection usually made him a little sad. It had turned out that their flirtation practise was pretty effective, because Patrick had gotten himself a date out of it. Joe, meanwhile, had just gotten bored of the whole thing. Play flirting with Patrick had been way more enjoyable than a lot of the conversations he'd had on the stupid app, recently, and if the thrill of meeting someone new wasn't as good as the fun of play-acting with a friend, then what was the point?

Then there was the fact that they were spending a lot of time together, which was actually a far less stressful prospect than going on real dates. But maybe he'd relied on Patrick's affinity with kids and his goodwill too much, lately. He felt guilty, in a way, that somehow his kid saw Patrick as his go-to in a crisis, rather than him.

Or maybe it wasn't really that. Maybe it was just nice to have a friend in LA who seemed to enjoy spending time with them both. Being a single parent was kind of a buzzkill for most of his friends, who either had no kids, or kids old enough that they could amuse themselves. He wasn't an idiot, either - he'd been on a date with a guy who'd been pretty pissed when he found out Joe had a kid, something about disclosing his lifestyle so as to not waste people's time.

Joe had told him he should consider disclosing on his profile that he was a self-absorbed asshole, and left. He hadn't even told anyone that it had happened, because he wasn't sure if maybe the guy was right. Truth be told, he'd kind of been put off dating for now. It had been okay when it was almost a hobby that he and Patrick shared, but he wasn't sure how long things would be this settled if Patrick made use of his new flirting skills and finally found someone he liked more than being right about music. Once Patrick met someone and had his own family, everything would change.

There was a moment, sitting in the dim glow of the night light, when Joe thought the Big One had struck. An almighty rumble and crash made him instinctively throw himself down over the suddenly shrieking toddler on the pillow beside him. But it quickly became clear that the building wasn't falling down around them - at least, not all of it.

When he picked Teddy up out of the bed and rushed into the hall, one hand over the top of his head, protectively, he could hear the sound of running water in the bathroom, and he realised with growing exasperation that his socks were wet.

"Aw, _fu_ \---dge."

It was obvious what had happened - maybe half the bathroom ceiling was scattered across the floor, the spoils of an overflowing bath from the apartment upstairs spilling out into his hallway. And Teddy was still crying.

"Okay, okay - it's just an accident, lil' guy, look: somebody splashed too much in the bath. You're safe, okay?"

"It's all wet," Teddy observed, looking down at the floor and then staring at him in bewilderment, tears abruptly stopped.

"Yeah, man, you're not wrong. You wanna be a good boy and help dad mop it up?"

He threw down a bunch of towels to try to absorb some of the water, and then went upstairs to check on the old guy who lived there. He was flustered but fine and had already called the building manager, so he spent the next hour with Teddy stomping his little feet on soggy towels to help soak up the mess, which seemed to take his mind off the fright he'd had.

The problem now, though, was that there was no way they could stay in the apartment when Mr Caruso could watch them sitting on the toilet from his own.

He snapped a picture of the remnants of the catastrophe and Teddy grinning in soggy pyjama pants, and texted it to Patrick, just for someone to share in his misery. _So this happened._

He was just stuffing some clothes into an overnight bag, trying to remember the name of the hotel down the street, when Patrick called. He didn't even say 'hello'.

"Are you guys okay?" he asked, breathlessly. It sounded like he was out somewhere, there were conversations in the background.

"Yeah… yeah. I mean, I think it took ten years off my life or something, but we're good. There's like, a fucking indoor skylight in my bathroom - you think that'll increase the resale? I mean, who doesn't want an unobstructed view of some old guy's low-hanging fruit from the bathtub, right?"

"Good - good. I was worried. But also, no, that will not help your resale price..."

"Thanks, man. We're just heading out to a hotel for tonight. I'm gonna drop Ted back off with Chrissie for a couple days, tomorrow, I guess - I haven't even got as far as calling her, yet - "

"Aw, don't do that. This is your time with him -"

"Dude, I'm not gonna spend the rest of the week in one room with a three year old."

"Well, why are you even doing that? You know you can always stay with me. I have room."

Joe almost started to decline, out of automatic politeness, but when he peered around the door into Teddy's room, he was stuffing as many of his toys as neatly as possible into his little wheelie bag, and he wasn't in the mood to argue about whether they'd have space. He rubbed at his forehead wearily.

"Would that be okay, dude? I mean, just for tonight - I can -"

"You can stay as long as you need, Joe. I'm heading home right now, I'll meet you there."

"Hey, Phileas Fogg, you wanna go sleepover at Uncle Patrick's house?"

"On the little bed?" Teddy asked, stopping his packing and squinting at him speculatively, like this might be critical to his decision.

"No, your bed'll have to stay here, my guy - we're not moving in… There's a big bed, though - like Dad's, we can share that. Or, more likely - you can sleep on most of it and I'll dangle off whatever scraps you leave me."

"Not Teddy's bed!" He looked exasperated and for a moment, Joe saw his own face looking back at him; it made him smile. "Little bed in the chairs..."

"The easychairs pushed together?" Joe asked, crouching down to zip up his bag full of toys and pull some fresh clothes out of the drawer. "Seriously? You wanna sleep on the easychairs? Do you know how much your real bed cost?" He picked him up and turned him upside down, squealing, over his shoulder. "You're gonna be cool with van tours when you form your own band, though, if that's all you need."

\---

By the time Joe's car pulled into the drive, Patrick had made it home, fixed up the bedroom and put on his own house clothes. His date, Reece, had actually seemed disappointed that he was leaving so suddenly, which made a pleasant change from getting run out on, so they'd agreed to fix up another, when there wasn't a crisis underway.

"It's okay," he'd assured him, "you're a good friend - that's actually kind of reassuring. Although, this isn't one of those setups, right? Someone calling to give you a way out? Because if it's just not your thing, that's -"

"No - no, not at all, I just -" _want to be there_ "- kind of owe him a favour, y'know? And he has a little kid, so…"

He was glad he'd only had the one glass of wine with their first course, mindful of Joe's advice about seeming like a lush, because it meant he could hurry back to tidy things up and get the place ready.

"Hello again," he smiled, crouching down to give Teddy his customary hi-five, trying not to laugh at the fresh set of Chewbacca Is My Wingman pyjamas he was wearing with his little light up sneakers. "I heard you had a big mess at Dad's house, huh?"

Joe snorted, behind him, pulling their bags out of the trunk. "He's made worse ones himself."

"I sleep on the little bed?"

"Hmm… Maybe I have a better idea, buddy," Patrick said, leading him inside.

"I dunno," Joe warned him, following them in, "he's totally got a thing for your armchairs."

It took a while to get Teddy settled on the bed Patrick had assembled in the corner of the guestroom - sheets wrapped around the cushions from the couch in the studio and a blanket fort over the top - but he seemed satisfied with his bed for the night, and Joe looked ready to cry at the prospect of not having feet and elbows digging in his sides all night.

"Lucky little piglet conned an extra bedtime story out of you, you know that, right?" Joe told him, as they shut the door carefully.

Patrick chuckled and shrugged. "Well… it was the first one from me, and he had a crappy night, so I guess I can allow it, just this once."

Sighing, Joe opened his arms for a hug and propped his chin on Patrick's shoulder, squeezing him tight. It seemed like maybe the adrenaline was wearing off and he'd begun to fret instead about what _could have_ happened. "Thanks for being a total fucking hero about it. As usual. It's like you're my white knight or something, always bailing me out of having to like, adult through a situation..."

"Nah, I just tucked a sheet around a couple of cushions. And I get to hang out with my two favourite dudes, anyway, so…" Patrick grinned self-consciously, squeezing him back.

"You do. You do it all the time, and I guess it probably comes naturally, after babysitting Pete until he found a girl to do it, but… Wait. Wait - you had - dude, you had a date tonight! Crap! You didn't -?"

"I told him I had to help out a friend who needed it, we're good. We're gonna reschedule. It got me brownie points, anyway, because now the fool thinks I'm a nice person or something… Besides, if he hadn't been cool about it, that would have been a deal breaker, anyway, y'know?"

Joe sighed and scrubbed his hand through his hair, guiltily. "Thanks, dude. Like, seriously - thanks. It means a lot. It's been kind of a crappy night and I don't know - it'd just be a lot worse if I didn't have someone I can pretty much trust to be there, basically. For both of us."

Patrick shrugged, flushed a little with pride and embarrassed by it. "Well, it's what a good friend would do, right? You don't need to thank me."

"But I just… seriously, Ric, one of those chunks of plaster was like -" he pulled away and held out his hands a foot or so apart "- _fucking_ huge. It would've taken me out, never mind Ted... Imagine if he'd been in the bath, or something, man… If it was like, a couple hours earlier..."

"Yeah, that's really kind of scary… But y'know, the main thing is that he wasn't. You're both fine, and he's snoozing away on his little pillow thing, so… don't torture yourself about it, c'mon."

"No, I know, but like…"

"Yeah." Patrick reached out and gave Joe's shoulder a sympathetic pat. "I know."

They sat up for hours, after - watching old Friends re-runs and hitting all the best lines and catch-phrases - anything to take Joe's mind off what he'd obviously pegged as a near-death experience, and it was a lot like when they were kids, back in Roscoe Village, although all the rooms in Patrick's house were conceivably large enough to swing a cat in.

"You wanna go to bed?" Patrick asked, when Joe sleepily slumped against him during _The One Where No One's Ready_.

" _Please_ ," Joe yawned loudly and sarcastically, folding his arms around himself. "You'd have to buy me dinner, first."

"I already did buy you dinner, actually. Not that that's even the point."

"You're probably right, though, he's gonna be awake at the crack of dawn… I gotta get some sleep."

They shut up the house together, locking doors and latching the windows too small to climb through, and then Patrick patted him on the back as he sent him into the guestroom where Ted was sprawled, hanging off the cushions, brushing off his thanks for being there when he was needed. Because it didn't matter, it really didn't, Patrick enjoyed having them there, was happy to share his home and watch his garden being used for what it was intended.

And he lay awake, when he got into his own bed, trying his hardest to sleep but distracted by the thoughts running through his head - how glad he was that they both fine and how happy he was to have them there and what he could get them for breakfast, tomorrow, and how maybe they could go to the zoo later in the week and… He didn't even think about his date once.

\---

Waking up to the sun through the fine curtains in the guestroom and the sound of Teddy's laughter in the garden was a pleasant change for Joe. Usually, if he had Teddy, it was at his apartment and he was the one getting him up and amusing him as soon as the sun came up. He thought about going back to sleep while he had the chance, but there was something about the joyous laughter accompanying Teddy's that made him actually want to get out of bed and witness it. To join in.

He stopped at the sliding doors and leaned against the jamb, rubbing his eye while he grinned at Patrick swinging Teddy by his hands over the lawn. It was far too early for an ordinary human being to be that cheerful. Especially one that famously loathed mornings.

It was Teddy who saw him first, squealing, "Daddy, I flying! Look, Daddy!"

Patrick gave him one last twirl, squinting back at Joe in the morning sun with a big, goofy grin. He was still in his pyjama pants and an old, faded Blondie t-shirt. He hadn't put on a hat, yet, and his hair was tousled and glinting brightly in the sun. Maybe, on some level, Joe's parental instincts were freaked out by the prospect of his child being flung across the garden by accident, because his heart was in his mouth, suddenly.

"Hey, you're up - we thought you might want to sleep in…"

Joe blinked and took a second to register what he was saying. "Huh?"

"Do you want breakfast?"

"Uh - yeah. Yeah. You want me to help?"

"Sure. Mi casa es tu casa…"

He patted Joe on the arm as he stepped into the kitchen, leaving Teddy to stop and pick up his firetruck and follow him inside.

"I actually have some cereal. It's easier to just feed Pete that when he comes over, so." He crouched down behind the island and seemingly disembodied hands produced box after unopened box of sugar shapes for Teddy to eat half of before deciding he didn't like it 'muddy'.

"Just give him Cheerios, dude. Chrissie doesn't really like him having the Pete-grade stuff, and honestly, I don't feel like that's a battle worth fighting."

They sat together at one end of the kitchen table - a table big enough for all of the family that Patrick seemed unsure that he was still going to have, lately - Teddy balanced on three cushions from the living room so he could reach to feed himself while Joe and Patrick ate their eggs. It was kind of funny, in a way. Joe's relationship with Chrissie was fine - they'd had an unlucky night after a handful of dates and they'd given things a shot because it seemed like they should, but it hadn't been right for either of them and they'd been big enough to recognise it before he was born, and still hold it together for the kid's sake. There were no hard feelings. They talked about decisions and sent each other greetings cards at appropriate junctures, they had a good, amicable relationship. But they'd never really been a family. He wasn't old enough for parents' evenings in school for them to go to together, they didn't spend weekends together - they shared time with him and she was able to fit in her own freelance photographic work around Joe's band commitments, it was a decent balance. They never did this, though. They didn't sit down together at a table and eat breakfast - or lunch, or dinner. She did with Teddy and her family, and Joe did, too, when he got to bring him home to see his grandparents, but not together.

He hadn't really thought about that, before, but it made him wonder - should they? Did Ted need that kind of family environment? Plenty of kids got away with unconventional homelives without it sending them bananas, and plenty of them with perfect, all-American families wound up with mugshot memes.

So, he didn't really know, but he was pretty sure having super-square Patrick around could only help keep him on the straight and narrow.

When they finished eating and cleared everything away, Teddy helped bring Patrick things for the dishwasher and Joe cleaned up the counters so he had an excuse to lift everything and wipe under it, just in case. He turned around to fold the tea towel and put it back, when he was done, to find the two of them dancing - Teddy making a valiant efforts to copy Patrick's moves to _I Heard It Through The Grapevine._ He grinned at them, watching Teddy almost falling over himself as he wriggled out an approximation of Patrick's sensual girations. And then at the girations themselves, watching Patrick's hips move, slightly transfixed as he twisted on the spot like he was giving the dishwasher a lap dance.

"Wow. Are you sure you're not his real dad? 'Cause I'm pretty sure he's got some Stumph genes in there somewhere. I mean, I can't dance for shit..."

Patrick gave him a pointed look for cursing in front of Ted and Joe covertly flipped him the bird in retaliation, making him snort with suppressed laughter.

"You wanna hope he doesn't come out with that at preschool…"

"I'm more worried he'll do what _you're_ teaching him at preschool, Magic Mike. Anyway, I'd rather he came out with that, than like, 'quinoa' like the other Hollywood rugrats."

"Would Chrissie?" Patrick teased.

"I'll just blame you, you ol' potty mouth."

"Aw, don't do that… I don't want to be banned from hanging out with you guys…"

"Yeah, well…That's the fight I absolutely would, like… _fight_ ," Joe shrugged. "I mean, I'm not giving up the best babysitter in LA that easily."

\---

Patrick hadn't been as happy as he was for the next few days, in a long time. It was good to have company, while he had so little else to do. Other times, when the band took time out, he'd see the other guys intermittently, work on a few bits here and there or put together a few new demos a day, but it was good to get out of the house and have others to share his evenings with. He was pretty sure he could get used to waking up at some hellish hour to help get Teddy fed and delivered to preschool, spend unmotivated mornings hanging out with Joe, playing Xbox or noodling around writing before a manic few hours in the afternoons, once Ted came home, in which they tried to tire him out enough for bed.

He pretty much forgot about dating, for a while. It felt a little rude to spend his time on his phone when he had company, even if it was the same company he'd spend hours in silence with on tour. Besides, he had other things to occupy his time - it didn't matter if he put his search for a lifemate on hold for a few days, not in the greater scheme of things.

When they got back in the car after dropping Ted off on Wednesday morning, it was the kind of pleasant, sunny day that stood out from all the other pleasant sunny days in LA - fresher, somehow; invigorating - and Joe suggested they go get some breakfast down near Venice Beach and people watch to get out of the house awhile. Patrick wasn't going to say no when there was an opportunity for waffles from the Firehouse.

They hardly ever went out and got _actual_ breakfast together, because it felt like they were rarely up at this time, if they didn't have a bus call or Good Morning America, or something. They'd spent plenty of late nights eating breakfast food in roadside diners, over the years, but this was different - peaceful and more rested than he'd expected when he got out of bed at 6.30am. It felt special, in a way. Quality time, above all the other quality time they'd spent together, lately.

But of course, with Joe there was always likely to be a handbrake turn into weirdness on the horizon.

"So. You wanna go watch some roided up dudes work out in baby oil and tiny shorts?" he asked with a mischievous grin, tossing down some notes on the tiny plastic tray as they finished up.

Patrick chuckled, thinking he was kidding, until Joe wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "What - for real?"

Joe shrugged disarmingly, "Sure, why not?"

"Is that - I mean…" There was a sinking judgemental feeling dropping through his belly, because _really?_ "Is that what you're into?"

"I'm into feeling like maybe I'm not so freakishly weird as I thought," he clarified. "At least, like, _physically_. There are way more people who look like me than those dudes. At least I don't look like a Martini glass fell in a vat of fake tan…"

It was an odd sort of relief to find that Joe wasn't looking to hook up with some guy in the middle of their hang out time; moreso to find that he wasn't actually into the whole bodybuilding thing - which, after the Phil My Dick incident, seemed very nearly like an actual possibility. Patrick sure as hell wouldn't have agreed to meet a dude whose introduction was a couple fistfuls of his own junk.

The beach gym was relatively quiet, when they got there, which made it easier to settle on the stone benches around the gymnasium sandpit and watch a few guys while they snickered into their takeout coffees.

"That guy's butt could crack a nut."

"Your nuts, maybe."

Joe's giggle was genuine and Patrick tried not to laugh along with him because he was afraid of embarrassing the dude they were talking about, but there was a long established exhibitionism here - there wouldn't be bleachers if it wasn't part of the fun - and he allowed himself a small chuckle and a nudge with his elbow.

"I think mine ascended…" Joe told him, still grinning. They were quiet for a minute or two, and then he added, "I mean… These dudes are just so not my thing…"

"You're the one who wanted to come here!"

"Well, yeah. But for fun, not to find Mr Tighty-Right-ies."

Patrick shrugged. "Yeah, well. I'm feeling inspired. Maybe I'll start working out and turn into a walnut in trunks, too."

"Don't!" Joe said, quickly, and Patrick looked at him, surprised. "You're good, dude. Don't change."

"It was a joke, man."

"Yeah, but still."

For want of something else to say, Patrick gave an acquiescent nod. "Alright… And don't you… y'know, abandon my tragic ass for some lubed up exhibitionist who thinks it's still 1986."

Joe looked at him weirdly for a moment, and Patrick could feel himself starting to colour self-consciously, like he'd said something dumb but couldn't place it.

"I won't." He finished off his coffee and stood up, beckoning Patrick to follow, hesitated a moment and then said it again, absently. "I won't."

\---

Joe was pretty sure, when Patrick suggested that they spend Saturday at the zoo, it was more because he wanted an excuse to go than it was for Ted's benefit. They'd already been at his place for a week, while the insurance company and the building management company argued over whose responsibility it was to get things fixed. No one seemed to think it was Joe's, though, so that was something. But it didn't feel like long, or like they should hurry to get home, because Patrick went out of his way to make it feel like their house, too. As soon as he heard that they'd need to be there a couple more days, he'd insisted that they moved the chaise lounge from the sun room into the main guest room where they were sleeping, so Teddy had a proper bed to sleep on. He'd started musing on whether to empty out the second guest room, which was mostly storage, for him to use, but Joe had talked him out of it. He didn't want a whole fuss when they'd only be there a few days.

It had been a week, now, though, and Joe was following them around the zoo, carrying a Toy Story backpack as well as his own, while Teddy guided Patrick towards the lion enclosure with his ankles in Patrick's hands and his hands on Patrick's forehead, repeatedly pushing his glasses off his nose. Patrick insisted he didn't mind and Joe felt like it would make him an old grouch if he pointed out that letting him sit on Patrick's shoulders probably meant Teddy would assume he could sit on Joe's, too, and Joe could barely lift him up there, some days, which was kind of hard to explain to a three year old. But he'd rather put up with a bitchfit in the future than disrupt them now, anyway. It made him smile too much to see them equally enthralled, Teddy wearing the sun hat willingly for almost the first time ever, mainly because it meant he could be like Patrick.

When they stopped at one of the kiosks to get ice creams, he flatly refused to get down.

"It's fine, I'll get one later," Patrick shrugged and they'd debated it for ninety seconds, before Joe gave in.

"You're spoiling my kid," he teased, holding out his ice cream to give Patrick a taste. "He's gonna think he can get away with murder because you don't mind."

"He won't," Patrick grinned, tilting his head back to look up at the popsicle-wielding imp on his shoulders. "Teddy's a good boy, right?" he asked, but Teddy was too busy with his own food to care. Quickly, trying not to jostle him, Patrick leaned in, swiping his tongue along the edge of Joe's ice cream where it was melting onto the cone and caught the side of Joe's finger as he did, glancing up into his eyes at the exact same moment and spluttering out a giggle as he realised what he'd done. He reached up to wipe his bottom lip. "Oh, God - I'm sorry!"

Joe was smiling back, he realised, open mouthed and indulgent and a tiny bit flushed. "Oh, be my guest," he told him, grinning wider and nudging the cone towards his mouth again, just forcefully enough to bump them playfully, watching Patrick suck at his bottom lip to clear the sweet cream. "I bet I taste way better, anyway."

" _Thanks_ ," Patrick muttered, in a little puff of a laugh, letting go of Ted's ankle just long enough to grasp Joe's hand over the cone and steady it so that he could get a proper taste. He didn't look him in the eye, this time, but there as a pinkness to his cheeks that brought out the same protective, preservative feeling in Joe that he'd felt down on the beach. _Don't change. Don't ever, ever change._

He drew it back to his own mouth and took an ostentatiously deliberate lick himself, one eyebrow arched, happy with the way it made Patrick corpse again, while Teddy looked down at them both impatiently, trying to steady his frozen rocket on a stick and grasping the ice with his fingers.

"Silly Daddy," he huffed, crossly. He held out one hand, covered in sticky, melted sugar water. "Dirty hands now!"

"Sorry, little man," Joe tutted, handing the ice cream to Patrick to hold while he moved over to a nearby table and dug some wipes out of his rucksack. "Hey, you guys wanna do this shuttle thing, now?"

Patrick turned bodily to look back at him, unable to turn his head because of the knee in his face. "What do you think, Ted? You wanna go on a shuttle ride?"

"In space?" he asked, doubtfully, letting Joe unsticky his hands.

Patrick tried to smother a laugh. "No, not that kind of shuttle. Although, good memory, smarty-pants! It's kind of like a train that goes on the road, where you can see all the animals." The next thing he tried to smother was a curse as his hitchhiker bounced on his shoulders and slapped his free hand into his face squealing, "TRAIN!"

"Ted! Dude. Be careful." Joe reached out to lift him off.

"He's okay," Patrick assured him, returning his attention to the ice cream to stop it running down his own fingers, "he's just excited. I don't mind. Here - do you want this back?"

Joe kind of did mind, but he didn't bother arguing. If Patrick was happy to be kicked in the jaw, then that was his prerogative. He was actually quite happy to just watch him lick ice cream off himself while he negotiated entertaining a three year old at the same time as literally anything else.

So, they'd sat on their little zebra road train, Teddy on Patrick's lap as he pointed out the hippos, Joe beside them, holding the bags. A few minutes in, the grandmother with two kids in matching shirts, opposite, had caught Joe's eye and smiled at him. He'd smiled back at her, not thinking much of it, until he realised she was watching the three of them and his arm was around the back of Patrick's shoulders, resting on the seat. In that moment, it was like his whole world dolly-zoomed into sharp focus. For a fraction of a second, he thought about moving it, realising how it must look - but he stopped himself, feeling a little rush of excitement in his stomach. He _wanted_ her to believe it. And whatsmore, he wanted her to be right. Unconsciously, his arm tightened around the body next to him, a tiny twitch of acknowledgement as it all aligned in his mind, like the locks on the Gringotts vault falling into place.

When the moment passed, interrupted by Teddy turning to him to yell, "Look! Teddy bear, Daddy!" in his face, he tried to forget about it - to set it aside for a more suitable time. But by the end of the day, he wasn't really watching Teddy, anymore - Patrick had that covered - and it wasn't the animals; it was Patrick he couldn't stop looking at.

\---

"Well, I think we successfully tired him out," Patrick yawned as they closed the door to the guest room, where they'd tag teamed reading Teddy _The Gruffalo_ because they both kept yawning. He hadn't even asked for a second bedtime story.

"Don't know how, seeing as you carried him all day," Joe replied, unable to stifle a yawn in return.

"Yeah, but we had fun, right?"

"Sure," Joe nodded, smirking and pinching Patrick's cheek, making him bat his fingers away lightly. "I mean, someone actually licked me for the first time in a while, that was pretty neat."

Laughing, scandalised, Patrick poked at Joe's belly to make him dodge out of his way. "That was an accident."

"Eh. Tomayto, tomahto. Who's complaining? Anyway, I'm gonna take a shower, get all the zoo cooties off me," he said, backing down the hall to the bathroom.

"Sounds like a good idea, actually, maybe I'll join you." He caught himself at the amused arch of Joe's eyebrows. "Like, in my shower. I'll do the same. Separately."

"Suuuure. I'll leave the door unlocked in case you change your mind."

Patrick stood in the hall giggling even after Joe closed the bathroom door, peeking out through the crack until the very last minute. He was such a fucking dork. It was hard to articulate quite how fond of him Patrick really was, after all these years, how integral to Patrick's life he'd become - moreso than ever, recently - and how glad he was that Joe and Teddy had invited him into their little gang. Usually, he counted down the days until he was back on your, but this time he was actually enjoying being home.

It was way too early for them both to go to sleep, although it was tempting after a whole day out in the sunshine. Instead, he waited for Joe to finish and took his turn to shower and change and then made to settle on the couch beside him, where he was watching Community. Joe was pouting at the TV, fingers knotted in his hair where he'd rested his head on his hand.

"What's up?"

"Back hurts," Joe complained feebly, just as Patrick folded his leg beneath himself. Without asking, he pushed himself back up and went out to the kitchen to bring him some Advil and a glass of water.

"You wanna lay down? I can move, if you want."

Joe shook his head and took a sip, setting his glass down on the end table as he swallowed, and then turned in his seat, lifting his feet into Patrick's lap and wedging a cushion behind himself. Patrick didn't argue, he just rolled his eyes at Joe's presumptuousness. Back when they were kids, they'd all lounge around in their tiny space, half-on top of each other. They'd just grown accustomed to it and then grown out of it a little over the years, but it hadn't escaped his attention that Joe had been more touchy-feely today than was strictly usual. It was just small things, little gestures - an arm across his back as they pointed out the spider monkeys to Ted; a forehead on his shoulder in laughter, as they watched the baby elephant chasing the wild birds in their enclosure; edging up closer on the shuttle to make more room on the bench than Patrick thought the other family really needed… Stuff he probably wouldn't have noticed, if, on some level, he hadn't been alert to it.

He'd reciprocated, a little. Casual gestures deliberately made. And as they got nestled down for the evening, he absently rubbed at Joe's feet, but even as he did, he could feel the heat rising up the back of his neck and creeping into his cheeks. Elisa used to do this - lay on the couch and ask him to give her a foot rub when she'd been wearing heels all day - although Joe hadn't asked him to go that far, he'd just slipped into it from habit. But Patrick didn't stop, or make him move, when he realised what he was doing, because Joe was tired and achy and it seemed a little mean to make him sit up again when he'd just got comfortable.

And the thing was, Patrick was kind of enjoying it. It was in the intimacy, he supposed, the gentle nurturing and bodily warmth of someone he cared for. The easy familiarity. And it seemed kind of stupid, but the more he dwelt on it, casting Joe side-long glances as he laughed sleepily at the TV, the more highly strung he found himself. It should have been a quiet, relaxing evening, but the last thing Patrick felt was relaxed. Maybe he was just that contact-starved these days, or maybe he'd let Pete plant something in his head that wouldn't otherwise have sprouted. Or maybe it was just the timing, combined with proximity and opportunity and being in the dating habit, that coloured his filters just a little differently.

But when Joe drifted off and Patrick's hands slowly stilled to gentle strokes, he was thinking about the bus journey out of Dallas and that moment before he recognised his childhood friend in the picture on his phone. How his heart had skipped, and his stomach had dropped and the first thought across his mind had been _wow._ It wasn't like he was blind - he knew Joe was good looking, objectively - he just didn't really think about it. But in that moment he'd really noticed and that had been kind of a shock, because somewhere in his head, Joe still had an awful bleach job and the gawkiness of a seventeen year old who wasn't comfortable in his own skin; but that wasn't who he was, anymore. He was the kind of guy who, in a well lit photo, if it caught you unawares, could completely take someone's breath away.

So, the thing, now, was that not only was he much more aware of how attractive Joe could be when it suited him, but that they were falling into habits that he associated with his past relationships. And maybe it was a sign of how suggestible he was, because he could hear a little Pete devil on his shoulder, whispering.

_But why not go for it?_

Well, because for one, he didn't want to assume. And he didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable over what could be a passing fancy. Not when Joe and Ted had nowhere else to go - not when it could make things awkward, or feel like their welcome was conditional. He tried not to think of all the other possible ramifications of misplaced overtures, but he stayed up until he, too, fell asleep on the couch, just because there was a lead weight in his stomach where he didn't want the day, or the moment, or the the tender, trusted feeling to end.

He woke in the early hours to Joe gently patting his head, fingers teasing a lock as he lifted his cheek from the drool-dampened patch on his sleeve to find the TV off and the lights out.

"C'mon, Mary Poppins, sleepy time."

Joe held out both hands to pull him to his feet, and Patrick complied, wearily.

"Is it late?" he asked, letting himself be led, playfully, like some kind of kiddie waggon, out of the room, towards his bedroom.

"Yeah, but enough that we can probably get a couple of hours in bed before he wakes up…"

It took a confused and slightly heart-stopping moment and for Joe to drop him off at his bedroom door with a bump on the shoulder, for Patrick to understand that he meant to sleep. In their respective rooms. Alone.

"Yeah. I mean, good, yeah."

There was something like hesitation in the way Joe turned to say goodnight from outside the other bedroom door. A lingering look or the way he tucked his hair behind his ear in the same motion as his small wave, that kept the moment turning over in Patrick's mind until the sun came up.


	3. Technology - Part 3

_ I guess my eyes can only see as far as you _

  
  
  


It was early, when Andy's phone began vibrating across his nightstand; early enough that he actually answered it, because Joe was a late night caller, usually. Formerly, because that was when he was high; lately, because he was only free once he'd gotten Teddy settled for the night and he couldn't bring himself to refuse demands for more stories before bed.

"Joe? What's up?"

"So, I'm not in any way saying you were like, right, or anything, but just so you know: you're the jerk who put a little chia seed of stupidity in my head, and now it's like. A shrub. So. Fuck you, you obnoxiously astute sack of inflatable dicks."

Andy laughed and flopped himself back into the bed, rubbing his eyes. He didn't have his glasses on, yet, and everything was a little out of focus. "What happened?"

"Some nice old lady with a couple of fucking Grady twins completely brain fucked me over it on a zebra road train and now I'm, like… He  _ foot rubbed _ me. And that's not even a dirty way of saying anything. He just sat there and rubbed my feet like it was nothing. For hours."

"Well. Is it something? And where were you guys when this happened?"

"Okay, so like,  _ one,  _ yes, it is 'something', and  _ two _ , on the couch."

"At your place, or his?"

"What do you mean, 'my place or his'? He's the only one of us with an actual, like, ceiling in his bathroom."

"What?" Even for Joe, that sounded odd. "No ceiling…? I don't…?"

"Old Man Caruso in 307 fell asleep for hours while running a bath. Didn't I tell you this, dude? My whole bathroom is a shitty mess. We've been at Ric's for a week. Or, like, eight days, technically."

Andy propped himself on an elbow, because he felt like he needed to be a little more upright to take this in. "You moved in with Patrick?"

"Not - we didn't 'move in' we're  _ staying _ , because my bathroom is currently the bottom of a residential sinkhole. But it's almost fixed, so. Probably not much longer, basically - which isn't the point. Like, at all."

"So. Okay, run this by me again.  _ What _ ?"

He could hear Joe sighing heavily on the line, tired and noticeably off-kilter. "I feel like I oughta know, by now, but… I've got to start listening to you, dude."

"Well, at least we cleared that up. But what's going on with Patrick? Did something happen, finally, or…?"

"Not, like… really. Nothing sort of, concrete. But I don't know, dude. I'm kind of starting to  _ get it _ , basically. What you were saying, you know? About me and him. And I don't really… Is it, like, kind of weird to want to…" He trailed off into a heavy huff and didn't fill in the gap in his train of thought, for which Andy was most grateful. "I mean, with someone you grew up with? Is that gross?"

"You're not related, are you?"

"No, but…"

"Then no, it's probably not weird. Although - if it were something like you and me, then yeah. Maybe. A little. But because I was an adult when you were a kid, even if not by much. You and him… well, you were there at the same time, I guess. You grew up  _ together _ , one of you didn't catch up to the other being an adult or anything like that." He paused, his mind casting back to something he recalled Pete telling everyone they knew about at the time. "Anyway, didn't you two, like, make out once when you were kids?"

"Um,  _ yeah _ , as a dare for twenty bucks when he was eating ketchup sandwiches every meal. I went with it so he didn't starve that week. It's not like we were childhood sweethearts."

"Well, I'm just saying… There's a precedent for not totally brosome behaviour, that's all."

Joe fell quiet for a long moment, save for slightly elevated breathing rattling on the line.

"You know what? I think that whatever happened, you guys have messed up pretty badly in the past and gotten over it. Just see what happens. But, for my money, man, you'd both be total idiots if you didn't try."

"Teddy really loves him… I wouldn't wanna fuck it up and spoil that for him..."

"What did I just say? You won't. But just don't do what you normally do and barrel right in there with some shitty pick up line that makes you sound like a dick, 'cause maybe he hasn't connected all those dots, yet. Take it easy and see what happens, okay?"

When he got off the phone, he sank into his pillow and allowed himself a long and satisfying sigh. Then, he picked his phone back up and texted Pete.

_ Tapping you in. You better start warming Patrick up to the idea of being an official stepdad. _

\---

Patrick hadn't really gotten any sleep by the time he could hear Joe and Teddy moving around and the sound of Cartoon Network on in the living room. He heaved himself out of bed with a low-grade headache and brushed his teeth before shuffling down the hall to drop onto the couch.

"Hey. You want coffee?" Joe asked from the kitchen door, and Patrick nodded drowsily against the cushions, raising a hand in vague acknowledgement. Mornings were his least favourite time of day, and he'd seen a lot more of them than he was used to, recently.

On the floor, Teddy was sitting on the rug with three of his stuffed toys alongside him, like a little audience. Patrick grinned at him, his little curly, blond head and the soft chuckles of laughter at The Flintstones. It was crazy that he remembered this one from when he was about Ted's age and it was still being shown.

"Dino," Teddy said, turning and propping himself on one hand, while the other pointed at the TV. Patrick smiled and propped his cheek on his fist, over the arm of the couch. "Daddy, look! Dino."

Patrick shifted again, quickly, turning to take the cup he assumed was hovering at his shoulder. But it wasn't. Joe wasn't even in the room, and when he looked back, Teddy was pushing himself to his feet on all fours, and stumbling over to him. He reached the couch and clamped both hands on the knee of Patrick's pyjamas, trying to attract his attention, and Patrick could feel the warmth rising in his cheeks.

"Is Dino, Daddy!"

"It's Dino, that's right," he nodded, trying to keep his voice even, through the embarrassment rising inside him, hoping Joe hadn't heard. He leaned down to pick the child up and sit him on the ottoman in front of him. "But I'm Patrick, remember? I'm not Daddy, am I, silly bear? You've already got a daddy. Daddy's in the kitchen." 

"But daddies go zoo," Teddy told him, holding out his hands, palms up, as if those were the rules and he had no choice but to run with it.

"Anybody can take you to the zoo. Your dad, or your mom, or your Uncle Patrick, or Uncle Andy. Maybe not Uncle Pete, so much, because they might keep him, but... Do you remember the girls we saw who went with their grandma? You're a really cool little guy, and I love you very much, but you've got a dad already. I can't be your dad."

Suddenly, there was a cup in front of his face, and Joe's voice explained. "He has a book about a little boy whose dad takes him to the zoo." 

When Patrick looked up at him, lifting the mug from his fingers, Joe's face was pink under his stubble. He felt his own face redden further. 

"Yeah, I mean… I know he's just - he's three, right? I can see why he'd..."

Joe shrugged and bopped at Teddy's nose. "Hey, goofball, you want some milk?"

"Milk, but Patrick can be Daddy?"

"What, you want him to get it?"

Patrick immediately started to get up, to do as he'd asked, but Joe lightly pushed him back down, waiting for Teddy's clarification.

" _ No _ . I have milk if Patrick be Daddy."

"I mean, if he's down for that, I don't care, but I'm not sure how much he cares about your calcium intake, bud."

"Um…"

"Maybe you can live here with Patrick forever and I can go and have fun with some actual grown ups and leave you here. How does that sound?"

"Okay."

Joe gasped at him, looking genuinely affronted. "You're not supposed to say 'okay', you little monster! You're supposed to be like, 'No, Daddy, you are the best daddy, don't leave me with this guy who spoils the heck out of me all the time, that would suck'."

Patrick giggled and stood up, putting down his cup and catching Teddy in the loop of his arm and carrying him off like a football. "No, he said it, he's mine, now."

Teddy was shrieking with laughter, his blond curls hanging down around his head and looking like a halo in a medieval painting.

Joe picked up his keys from the table and shrugged, seemingly unconcerned by the fact he was only wearing a loose tank and boxers. "Okay, bye, then, I'm going…" He started for the door. "Byeeee…"

In Patrick's arms, Teddy started to try to right himself. "No, Daddy!"

"You mean him, or me? I thought you wanted Patrick to be daddy?"

"No, Daddy be daddy!" he said, starting to sound alarmed.

"You sure, little man? Because I'm pretty sure he secretly wants to keep you, anyway."

"Oh, it's not even a secret," Patrick grinned, turning Teddy up the right way. Teddy immediately held out his arms to Joe and nearly scrambled into them when he took him. Joe grinned and kissed his hair, catching Patrick's hand for a second as he let Teddy go, and squeezing.

Patrick squeezed back, working hard at not being distracted by the half-finished chest piece visible under the neckline of his top. It hadn't been long that they'd been hanging out so intensively, but he was kind of proud of how well they worked together. And it was fun, too. It didn't feel like a chore to have to get up and take Teddy to preschool or amuse him in the afternoons, or make him the same weird meals his mom made him when he was tiny. It felt  _ good _ . Like he had a purpose. He'd hardly thought of music for the past week, and he wasn't sure he could remember a time he felt like that since he was in middle school.

\---

Pete was a little mad to have to be the one to go over to Patrick's house and find out what the fuck had been going on for himself, and even more mad that Andy had heard about shenanigans before him. But he showed up with Saint in his carrier as a deliberate talking point, because he hadn't needed Andy to tell him that at least 30% of this whole thing was that Patrick was hopelessly in step-parent love with the Mini Me. A Mini Me who was, from what Pete had seen, at least as smitten with his fake second dad, and had developed a few of his traits from day one.

He could hear the squeals of laughter from the front door, as he waited for Patrick to open it. He knew that sound - he heard it when he went to pick up Bronx for the weekends, before he made small talk with Evan - it was happiness, and whatsmore, people having the audacity to be happy  _ without him _ .

When the door was answered by Joe, wearing little more than nothing, he started to wonder if they needed his intervention all.

"Oh," he said, flatly, "hey."

"What're you doing here?" Joe asked, suspiciously.

"Why aren't you wearing pants?"

"How is that your problem?"

"Well, I mean - is  _ nobody _ dressed right now, or…?"

"We're having a lazy Sunday; who're you, the feds?"

"Are you even gonna invite me in, man?"

"I'm not falling for any of that vampire crap, what do you think I am, stupid?"

"Honestly?"

"Ric?" Joe yelled over his shoulder, smirking at Pete wickedly. "There's some weird dude at the door who might like, actually be a vampire…"

Pete rolled his eyes and pushed Joe out of the way with a hand to the face, and no sooner had he crossed the threshold than Patrick appeared, dangling a child from one arm. He was deceptively strong for a little dude, Pete knew it first hand having been on the receiving end on more than one occasion.

"Your door staff sucks."

"Saint!" Patrick beamed, completely ignoring Pete, in favour of leaning over the carrier. "Hey, Ted, look who's here."

Behind Pete, Joe snorted and shut the door.

Sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of Reese's puffs while Patrick cuddled Saint on one side and held Teddy on the other knee so Joe could take a shower, Pete realised that the house felt weird. It wasn't as echoey or bachelor-pad-y, somehow. It was warm. Lived in. Like he spent time in spaces other than his studio. Which, judging by the toys he could see through the living room door, he was. Or, they were.

"So, are you adopting this one, yet, seeing as you're a happy little family now, kind of?" he asked, nodding in Teddy's direction. It was interesting that Patrick blushed in response.

"No - of course not," he said, in a tone that seemed directed more at the kid on his lap. He gave Pete what he suspected was a pointedly warning look, but that had never stopped him before and it wasn't about to now.

"I mean, you're basically his other dad, right?"

"Pete," Patrick hissed, through a fixed smile. "Don't. We've had this conversation: Teddy has a daddy already."

"I got Daddy," Teddy nodded, splaying his fingers to point towards the door to the hall. "Patrick not - not - not Daddy. Just zoo."

"And there's the Trohman in him," Pete smirked, reaching out to hi-five his pudgy hand. "Making as much sense as Number One Dad. Also,  _ what _ ?"

"It's nothing, okay? Don't confuse him," Patrick replied, squeezing the kid and kissing the top of his head. "I know what he means."

"I'm just saying, man: you make a good dad."

"Yeah, one day, sure."

"Or, like. A step-dad, maybe?"

The glare Patrick gave him was dark, and so was the red in his cheeks as he cast him his blackest look. 

"Oh, well if that's a no... I was actually gonna say, guess who's coming down for a few days?"

"I don't know - Travie?"

"Nah, man, it's Hurley Burley. He's coming down for a couple of nights, just to hang out and talk shop before we need to start looking at all the stuff we have coming up, kind of."

"Yeah? Since when?"

"Since this morning, when we decided. He's getting in lunchtime tomorrow."

"Oh. Well, I mean, that'll be nice, sure…"

"Yeah, yeah - we should go out, or whatever, have some full-dude downtime. Maybe you can find some other dude whose kid you can adopt, instead. Or, I dunno, maybe like… buy some of your own babies with. Or just give the special hug to."

"Y'know what? I'm really thinking about taking some time off from all of that, right now, so…"

"But I thought you wanted to meet your soulmate, dude? How're you gonna do that if you don't meet anybody?"

"Well, maybe I'm just not in as much of a hurry as I thought I was…"

"That's kind of a U-turn on a few weeks ago. C'mon, it'll be fun - get out, have a couple of drinks, make a new friend…"

"Uh… I don't know, man, we have Teddy - maybe we could hang out here, get some pizzas or something, or - "

"'We' can leave him at my place. Meagan'll babysit."

"I don't know - I mean, it's a nice idea, but…"

Pete looked up triumphantly as Joe wandered back into the room, dressed finally. "Hey, Joe - you, me, him and Hurley: dudes' night out, what do you think?"

"Sure? I guess?" Joe replied, shrugging. "I mean, if everyone's down for that?"

"I just wondered where we'd get a sitter, y'know?"

"Well, Jan and Derek usually take him…"

"He can stay at ours," Pete offered, determined to make this happen and enjoying the interaction between the two of them, watching Joe rest his hand on Patrick's shoulder a second and then change his mind and put it on the back of his chair, awkwardly, glancing at Pete to see if he'd noticed. "Meagan's awesome with kids, she's down to babysit, man."

"I mean, I suggested maybe we do something here, y'know, then - "

"It's not a big deal, dude, let's actually go hang out somewhere actually like, aimed at us, for a change. Trust me, when this is your whole life, you don't pass up chances to get out."

\---

Pete had hung out with Joe and Patrick a couple of times since their rest break had started, but Andy hadn't, and from the moment they arrived at the restaurant he could see a change in them. It was in the way Joe held open the door without playfully elbowing him in the face to get through it first, and the way Patrick's hand fell naturally onto Joe's shoulder as he edged around to squeeze into his seat behind him.

Pete cast him a sidelong glance and twitched his eyebrows pointedly as the two of them pored over the menu together and chose a sharing platter for their starter. Sharing food was - or had been - a flat-out deal-breaker for Joe, for as long as either of them could remember.

"Are you over the whole 'other people's fingers' complex, then?" Andy asked, picking up his water and watching Joe give a half-shrug.

"I have a kid. I don't think I've eaten anything without someone else touching it first in like three years…"

Pete almost choked on his drink, earning himself a kick under the table.

"You're gross."

"You said it, dude, not me…"

Patrick's little grin and nose scrunch as he slid his glasses up was fixed entirely on Joe; a look of such fondness that it actually made him wonder if there was an update he hadn't been made aware of, yet.

"So, any sign of your bathroom being fixed up, yet?"

Joe's expression was verging on guilty as he shook his head and studiously sipped his beer.

"Wow, you may as well move in," Pete said. "Maybe if you did, you'd stop being guests or whatever, and I'd get to hang out with my best buddy again…"

"Hey, no - they're welcome as long as they want, don't say that," Patrick replied, and his hand disappeared under the table, seemingly rubbing Joe's leg. "You are. Maybe if I  _ wanted _ to hang out with Pete so he could mock me, I would." He gave him a challenging look, but broke down into a snort of laughter when Pete flipped him off.

"Fine, well maybe I don't even wanna be a third wheel. Maybe I'll just make Hurley my best buddy instead."

"Sorry, my best broship is taken. Please resubmit your application upon the death of one Matthew Mixon."

"Well, you can all go fuck yourselves, then, assholes, I'm gonna go call Gabe."

"Good luck!" Joe retorted, lifting his glass in a toast. "Pretty sure Billiam has it covered, but what do I know?"

"Oh my God - am I alone now? Did my nightmares actually fucking happen?"

"Looks like it, duder. I mean like, if you exclude your girlfriend and your kids, sure you're alone, now."

Patrick nudged Joe in the arm and put on his very most serious face as he looked at Pete and patted his hand soothingly. "I am still your best friend, Pete, but sometimes it's important to play nice with the other kids. We can totally have a just-us hang out if you really want. I trust Ted to make sure Joe doesn't wreck the place while I'm gone."

Joe was laughing his self-conscious giggle, the one that made his eyes go scrunchy, while he fiddled with his napkin and stole glances at Patrick through his lashes. He wasn't much of a blusher, but he turned red when he caught Andy watching him.

They'd always been close (or, nearly always; bad moments had definitely been had, in the past) even when they were dumb teenagers rejecting the old scene's hyper-masculine norms and would dick around being affectionate - copying Pete and Chris because they were kids and both looked up to them, for some reason. They'd hang on to each other and lean on each other when they slept in the back seats of the van and it wasn't that weird at the time, but something about this felt different to back then. Back then, they were kids and Patrick had Anna and Joe was trying pretty hard to have just about anyone, and it never would have crossed his mind that it might be something else. But knowing what he knew, and what he'd seen brewing the past couple of months, it fitted together like a balsa wood skeleton from the kits his mom bought him when he was small. It didn't need any encouragement or glue to bind it, it just worked because all the little parts propped each other up and held each other in place.

"Okay, so did I miss something?" Andy asked, when Patrick climbed out around Joe's seat to go to the restroom.

Joe blinked and set down his glass carefully. "I don't think so?" He thought for a moment and then changed his mind. "Oh - but like, Teddy decided calling Patrick 'Daddy' was The Thing, so that was a little awkward."

Pete's eyes widened with almost explosive glee. "Holy shit! No wonder he got weird when I showed up and asked if he was adopting him."

"The day you came around with the crib demon? Because that was like, right when it happened. Sweet timing, bro. Thanks."

"What am I, psychic?"

"No, but you have a phone. The thing that  _ calls _ people in advance of showing up at their house."

"Oh, yeah, but that would have been way less fun than having him explain why you were walking around basically naked."

Andy's sparkling water almost went down the wrong way as he sipped it. "What?"

"Dude. I was - I had like, underwear and a shirt on, it was Sunday morning and I didn't shower yet."

"Sunday morning in someone else's house!"

"Yeah, Patrick's though."

"Also, that wasn't a shirt. That was like, some kind of tiddie tank. By which I mean, I could basically see his tiddies."

"Thank you for that enlightening and wholly unnecessary mental image, Pete, awesome."

"It wasn't - you know what? I'm not explaining myself, you don't know what's normal for us."

"Well, I thought I did," Andy teased, "and then it got all nudist."

Joe gave an exasperated huff and looked at Andy like he was assessing how hard to throw his fork to successfully stab him in the eye. Between his scrappy nature and his throwing arm, it was entirely possible he'd do it, too.

By the time Patrick returned, cheerfully telling them about the display of desserts in a glass case on the way back, they'd given up all pretense of Pete not knowing what was going on, and he was offering him deliberately terrible advice on how to win him around.

"Coat yourself in barbecue sauce, that'll do it."

"That'll do what?" Patrick asked, looking around the table.

" _ Nothing _ ."

"Oh. Well, anyway, maybe we should order desserts and get out of here, y'know?"

"You got plans?" Pete asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Patrick looked surprised. "What? No, we just need to get home, right?"

"For what? Not Ted? Don't say 'Ted' because I feel like it was only ten minutes since Meagan picked him up…"

"Well, I mean - "

"Nope. Tonight is Dad's night."

"Daddies' night," Pete corrected.

"Would you quit it?" Patrick snapped back. "But sure - I mean, okay, if you're not concerned about getting home, then… that's fine."

It wasn't fine. By the time they were settling the check, Patrick's phone was in Joe's pocket because he kept checking the time to see when they could leave. It was kind of revelatory, though, watching the interaction as Joe slid it from his fingers with a pointed look and straight into his pocket, and Patrick just acquiesced without punching him. It was right about then that Andy decided that they were going to have to work this thing out or he was going to have to punch them both.

\---.

"He's fine," Joe said, catching Patrick watching the clock from their booth in the bar they'd headed to after. "Trust me, Meagan's got this."

"I know," Patrick sighed, laughing at himself a little. "I'm not exactly a party guy, anyway, right? I'm always the loser who wants to be back home like ten minutes after we arrive…"

Joe's arm was already stretched casually around the back of the bench, and he slid it down on to Patrick's shoulders to squeeze him supportively. "It's sweet that you care, dude," he said, leaning into his ear to be heard above the music. "I like that you care."

Patrick just smiled and leaned his head on Joe's shoulder a moment, then straightened up. And Joe did the same, but his arm stayed slung around Patrick and Patrick did nothing to discourage it.

It was probably fair to say that Patrick was a little drunk, by the time the actual DJ set started - some kind of classics night that Pete had insisted would be awesome - because he threw both arms up in the air to cheer  _ Gett Off  _ when it started playing, and let Pete coerce him into dancing. Joe watched him from their table, slid round to sit next to Andy so they could both see. Patrick dancing was never not entertaining, but it was doubly entertaining when he was very obviously half-cut and seemingly channeling The Purple One himself.

"Look at our little buddy go…" Andy smirked into his glass of 0.00% pseudo-beer.

Joe couldn't stop grinning at the little dork, chin propped on his hand over the table, absently rubbing the condensation from the side of his glass in slow strokes. He could still remember telling Patrick to stop playing the track on repeat, when they lived together, but the result of his persistence was that Joe knew the lyrics probably almost as well as Patrick himself and he was muttering the words to the chorus under his breath when Patrick caught his eye and grinned, singing  _ if you want to baby, here I am _ with a flourish and giving him a gleeful little wave, like maybe he knew Joe was singing too.

"You should go down there," Andy added, nudging him with his elbow. "He keeps looking over and those hips look like an invitation, to me."

"Sure, that's what this scene needs - me ruining it."

"I don't think it's your dance skills that are critical to this situation, my friend."

"I feel like my dance skills would be critical  _ damage  _ to this situation, so…"

"Well, did you try any  _ other _ moves, yet? Has he offered to rub anything else than your feet?"

Joe pulled a face at him. "He hasn't rubbed my anything."

"So, do something about it - get out there, go offer him another drink, if you have to, just go get in his space while he's still dancing to Prince. Go get yourself associated with the thing he finds hottest."

"He has a drink -"

Andy looked him dead in the eye and stuck out a hand with catlike impassivity and flicked Patrick's drink off the end of the table. "No, he doesn't."

"Oh, well that's smart! Now the whole floor's gonna be sticky all night! Good job!" Joe complained as he slid all the way around the table to get up, climbing over the puddle to pick up the unbroken tumbler, and set it back down on his way to do as he was told.

His plan, such as it was, was to step up behind him for a second, maybe put a hand on his waist or hip or something, offer him the drink and then get out of there. What actually happened was that Pete saw him coming, drew Patrick's attention to it, and then basically disapparated, leaving Joe with nothing to do but let Patrick's grabby hands pull him closer with a big stupid grin on his face. The motion of his arms by extension forced Joe into some kind of awkward shuffle on the spot.

"You're dancing!" he cheered, looking up at him delightedly, not quite gyrating but feeling awkwardly close to it, at this proximity. His hand was still holding Joe's. "You  _ never  _ dance!"

"Still not, actually," he yelled back, leaning in with his free hand on Patrick's shoulder, having to place them almost chest to chest to be heard. "I just wanted to ask if you wanted another drink."

"What?" Patrick asked, tilting his head a little closer to Joe's mouth so he could hear him, the other hand clutching his shirt at the waist, so they were almost in a waltz. He was still singing the most lascivious things to himself as lightly as if he were singing a nursery rhyme, while Joe tried to take a deep breath and make himself say something that didn't sound like one of Prince's own pick up lines.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

The look of cheerful confusion that passed over Patrick's face was at once endearing and embarrassing. "What - I mean, yeah, sure, but…? What?"

"Your drink got spilled - do - you - want - the - same - thing?"

"Do we want the same thing?" Patrick asked, holding his hand to his ear and looking even more bewildered. "I don't…" The confusion seemed to get too much for him, as suddenly Joe was being shimmied away from the PA and pushed to the edge of the dancefloor. "I couldn't hear you," he said, leaning close to Joe's ear again, grasping his fingers tight, the other hand on Joe's hip. "What were you asking?"

Joe glanced over at their table, where Andy and Pete hurriedly looked away, doing a shitty job of pretending they weren't watching the whole thing. 

"It's not super important, dude, I just wanted to buy you a drink…"

Patrick's expression seemed to shift, somehow, from cheerfully unclear to lip-bitingly playful, his eyes trained intently on Joe's. "You should - you should come dance with me. Forget about drinks. We can just…" He giggled to himself, looking back towards the dancefloor as  _ John, I'm Only Dancing _ , began to play, like he'd selected the playlist personally. "We could just dance, y'know?"

Joe almost gave in, for a moment, looking down at his sparkling eyes, dilated in the dim, imagining how Andy would berate him for it if he didn't. But there must have been something about his own expression because Patrick shifted his weight and pulled back a little, the nibbled lip turning into a resigned little smile.

"You looked good," he blurted, trying to stop this weird, intense moment from slipping away, ducking down a little to narrow the gap again and make sure Patrick could hear him clearly as he made another concerted effort to embarrass himself. "Getting Off."

Patrick's hand shot to his mouth to cover a splutter of laughter.

"To the song. Like, dancing. To  _ Gett Off _ . The song, not… not 'dancing to get off', I just meant you're good. At dancing. Like, ten out of ten."

This was not how this was meant to go - he was supposed to peddle him some smooth line that would get him associated with Prince's unbridled animal magnetism, but it was turning out to be more like he was one of those dogs who could kind-of-sort-of say 'sausages'. The giggles Patrick was still trying to stifle were kind of cute, though, the accompanying sparkle in his eyes bright and colourful in the lights and he was pleased to see him laughing; to have instigated it, even if it was because he was a dumbass. His own mouth was tingling with an unreasonably strong urge to kiss his chewed lips as he grinned down at him.

"Thanks," Patrick said, with a feeble attempt at a serious nod. "That's… very flattering."

"You're welcome," he said, nodding back deferentially.

But Patrick had wrapped an arm around the small of his back and was laughing again, with his eyes scrunched tight and his forehead pressed to Joe's shoulder, tipping his hat so it almost completely slipped off. Joe had to catch it and drop it on his own head for somewhere to put it. He found himself snickering against his sweaty bangs, stupidly, rubbing at the nape of his neck with a restless thumb until Patrick managed to get a handle on himself.

"You done, Giggles McGee?"

"Yeah - yeah, I'm - " he gave another little snort "- sorry, I'm done. I am. And for your information, I do not 'dance to get off'."

"Yeah, well, maybe you should like, try it, 'cause I was watching and I could be convinced to go the full Spinal Tap and give you eleven out of ten for that whole thing."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I mean, it was kind of sexy until I had to dock some points for thinking that trying to get me dancing was ever a good idea, basically…"

"Okay - okay, you know what?" Patrick said, taking his hat back and settling it back on his head as he straightened up, freeing his hands to gesticulate emphatically, with schooled seriousness. "Forget about dancing. Let's… do the thing. Buy me a drink. Do it. I don't know what we're scoring on, tonight, but buy me a drink and I'll just… figure it out."

\---

For all his reluctance to spend a night out on the tiles, Patrick was really enjoying himself. Maybe he had consumed one or two polar bear cocktails, childishly delighted by the bright blue colour from the Curacao, but the choice of music was amazing and he was happy to have his guys with him and see them all enjoying themselves. And on top of that, he felt like the bumper strips had come down on the bowling lane of his life and he was heading, full speed, towards a strike.

He didn't really have the words to articulate  _ why _ he was so sure things were going his way, it was just a feeling. A feeling that grew hot in his chest while they stood at the bar - or as close to it as they could get amongst the throng of guys queuing - Joe nudging Patrick ahead of him in the crush until his ribs were pressed against the wooden edge and Joe was pressed against Patrick. One of his hands kept catching under the edge of Patrick's shirt, his fingers warm against the skin on his waist, and maybe it was an accident or maybe if they weren't surrounded it would have stayed there longer.

He wanted to believe it was the latter. He kept imagining the latter, as the night went on, caught between spells of watching him talk almost endlessly, even when Patrick couldn't really hear what he was saying and just had to read his endearingly expressive face to follow the thread of the conversation, and trying to think of ways that they might lose the other two for a little while. Because if they did, then maybe they could knock down some pins.

When he asked Joe for his phone back, late in the evening, Joe just smirked at him and tilted his hip in Patrick's direction, inviting him to dig it out of his jeans. He did, pretending it was a horrible inconvenience, but they had to be in each other's space for his hand to make the angle without dislocating his wrist, and he was sure for a second that Joe's hand had deliberately fallen to steady him too low; that there had been a distinct but fleeting squeeze to pull him closer.

**_Ric  
_ ** _ 9/10 rivet on your pocket is sharp. _

He sent his message and grinned to himself from the bar, watching Joe read it and look around for him, smirking. He tapped out a message and looked directly across at Patrick when he pressed send.

****_Joe_  
__ Come over here and ill kiss it better  
  


Patrick almost overbalanced in a tipsy twirl when a hand slid up the back of his bicep, because he knew it wasn't Joe - he was still watching him across the room.

"Oh - wow, hey!" he said, for a split second totally unable to remember the guy's name and starting to go for a handshake and then settling for an awkward hug to cover it. 

"How's things?" Reece asked as he pulled away, patting Patrick's arm.

"Oh - good, yeah, but I mean, y'know -  _ so busy _ …"

"Yeah? I mean you didn't call, so I kind of assumed…"

"Man, I am so sorry - it's all been a little… yeah. So - I mean, basically my friend and his kid have had to move in with me for a little bit, so… Y'know - hosting people, and stuff, so I just… Can I get you a drink or something to apologise?"

"It's no problem, I get it. I see the moratorium's kind of off, now, though..."

"The what?"

Reece laughed and cast a glance back towards their table. "You're back to dating," he said. "Which is cool - I'm kind of on a second date, right now, so…"

Patrick blinked at him, feeling a little spacey, like his body had just identified the vodka in his last cocktail. "I am  _ so _ not on a date, right now, man - I'm here with my friends. My - my band dudes, y'know?"

" _ 'Friends _ ', right," Reece nodded doubtfully. 

"What?"

Leaning away to look down at him with a dubious smile on his face, like maybe he couldn't tell if Patrick was incredibly drunk or incredibly dumb, or maybe just a huge liar, he said, "Your 'friend' - the one who actually looks like he's in a band -"

Frowning, Patrick also glanced back at the table, and then he realised what Reece meant. "Joe?"

"Ah, yeah - that was it,  _ Joe _ . The one you went all white-knighty over. He's hot, by the way - I can see why you'd be in a hurry to help out… Kind of hard to compete with the more attractive best friend who plainly wants it."

Maybe the music in here was actually too loud, because it felt like nobody was making much sense, tonight. He didn't understand what his grandma's nightdress had to do with anything. "What?"

The smile on Reece's face had gotten kind of wide and a little silly, and it felt like when Andy was telling him he'd had enough but kind of wanted him to keep drinking because it was funny. "You're really cute," he said, and leaned in a little to speak close to Patrick's ear, so he could feel his cheek brush his own - one of the hands at his elbow creeping up to the side of his neck. "If things don't work out with that guy, you should call me for that do-over."

"Oh, me and Joe aren't - I mean, we're not actually…" He trailed off, feeling his face burning as he casually shied away to scratch under the back of his hat, flattered and startled and afraid that he might protest too much and make things obvious.

"I don't know if you're just playing dumb for my benefit, or if you really haven't figured it out, but that guy is totally D-T-F."

He scoffed a little, embarrassed, and waved the suggestion away. " _ Joe _ is? But - no, I mean… I don't know, I don't think… It's probably just - we're really old friends, y'know?"

"Yeah? Well, he kept turning to watch us, and now he's coming over, so…"

There was something about the sudden feel of having Joe in his personal space, tucked a little behind him, a hand on his waist and the scent of his cologne - fading now, but still citrusy and warm - that made it difficult to keep his eyes open for a second and he almost forgot where he was and who he was talking to. 

"I'm sorry, is my friend bothering you?" Joe asked.

"Uh, no," Reece laughed, looking between them and then lifting his eyebrows at Patrick. "No, you're good."

"We've gotta stop letting him out in public," he added, apologetically. "Anyway, I'm Joe - minder, confidante, temporary roomie… do you guys know each other?"

"Only a little," Reece said. "Ric ran out on me to come rescue you from a flood, I think."

"Oh! Right. Yeah, sorry about that."

Patrick cringed. The streams were not supposed to cross like this. Ever. "I mean - y'know, there was a real, legitimate crisis…"

"Yeah, I can like, verify that personally," Joe nodded. "Ric's kind of our hero…"

"So, is your place getting fixed up, or is it going to be a longer-term thing?"

Joe shrugged. "Who's to say, man? The way my kid would have it, we'd never leave…"

Patrick couldn't help grinning and bumping his shoulder into Joe's chest, pleased at the thought that Teddy was happy there, hoping Joe was, too. 

"So, anyway - dude, c'mon, let's dance." His hands were on Patrick's waist, now - both of them - and he was gently turning him away. "I love this song."

Patrick blinked at him, confused. "Do you?" He had no recollection of Joe ever expressing a love for Kylie Minogue and the song was more than halfway through.

"Yep," Joe said firmly.

"Oh - oh, okay…" 

"So, anyway, good to see you, man," Reece said, patting at his shoulder and smiling at Joe as he edged past. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Joe replied, giving him a nod as they turned to shuffle back towards the dancefloor like the world's shortest conga line. He guided him around the corner, where they couldn't be seen from their table, making a restrained but deliberate effort to move while keeping Patrick close enough to be heard. "So, what's the deal with you and that guy, anyways? I thought you were gonna line up another date to like, make up for the one you ruined for me…"

"I was," he said seriously, tilting his head to look up at him, transfixed by the way the disco lights from the dancefloor coloured his eyelashes. "And I mean he's nice, but… I kind of have other stuff going on, right now…" For a moment, he clasped his hand over the one at his hip, wanting Joe to know what he meant, but too chicken to say it because he hadn't really articulated it to himself, yet.

"Oh," Joe nodded, as the song blended out into the first piano notes of  _ Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy _ . They both laughed at the choice, and Patrick's forehead pressed against Joe's cheek, arms settling around his waist as they sang along, howling the  _ ooh-loves _ together while Joe air guitared behind Patrick's back, using his spine for a fret board.

They stayed there, almost waltzing candidly as they sang, like the end of the night at a family wedding, until the song changed again, from the jubilantly camp nonsense of Queen to the '80s synths of  _ Cherish _ . Patrick laughed nervously, feeling the opening lyrics and the way Joe returned an uncertain giggle burning at his cheeks. Joe's eyes were wide in the swirling lights, darting around them at the other dancers like he was checking to see if anyone had noticed the ridiculous way Patrick was gazing him; and he knew he was doing it, but he couldn't quite stop. 

There were too many thoughts, so many acutely bright details of Joe's face and the slope of his neck into his shoulders that he wasn't sure he'd ever really noticed before - or, not with this brilliance - and Reece's words, insisting Joe wanted him, wouldn't stop teasing him. He started to imagine scenarios, peeling through his mind like a flick book - what if they kissed right now? What would Joe's lips feel like? What if he pushed the hand hooked into Joe's belt loop just down the little gap at the back of his jeans? What would Joe do? What about if Joe pressed his hips just a little harder into Patrick's and he pressed back? What if they ditched the other two and found a dark alley to make out in, like frantic teenagers? What if they left Teddy at Pete's for the night, and went home and Joe peeled off his clothes and maybe not even in the bedroom? What if he could breathe in his cologne - suddenly the most enticing scent in the world - just like he was doing now, and nip at his skin until they fell against the wall or the furniture or…? 

He couldn't quite breathe at all, every bit of him aware of the warmth rising as Joe leaned in just a little closer to his jaw, opening his mouth to say something, and… he really had to put a stop to this before it got noticeable.

"I need some air," he said, putting just enough space between them.

Joe blinked down at him, startled by the movement and pulling back a little more. "Air? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good I just… I'm gonna go outside a minute."

There was no question of whether Joe was coming with him, he just nodded and pulled him through the moving, chanting horde towards the doors to the terrace.

The space was still crowded, outside, but there was stool next to the wooden drinks ledge running along the outer wall, and Joe pushed him at it, lightly, encouraging him to sit. He looked concerned; watching with his brows furrowed and holding out a hand to steady him as Patrick clambered on to the seat inelegantly, trying to clear his mind of the fantasies that had overwhelmed him so easily, inside. But it was a little difficult with Joe rubbing at his elbow, hip pressed to the side of Patrick's knee so people could move past them.

"Do you want me to get you a drink, or anything?"

"No… I'm good."

"You sure, 'cause I can go to the bar…?"

"Honestly, dude, I'm fine, I just wanted a little air." He patted the hand on his arm gratefully and smiled at him. "Thanks, though - for looking out for me, y'know?"

"Well, you look out for us, right?" Joe replied, leaning a little closer and sliding his hand from Patrick's elbow to tighten around his shoulders in a clumsy hug, half tilting him on the stool until he nearly tipped into his arms.

"Don't drop me, man," Patrick told him, chuckling and clutching the back of his shirt, feeling the hair on the back of his neck creeping up at the feel of Joe's breath on his cheek as he pressed his nose to Patrick's temple and laughed. 

"Sorry. Sorry, I've got you," he said, straightening up and settling him securely on his seat as he pulled back, but he didn't quite let go. His hand rested at the back of Patrick's neck, stroking gently as Joe looked down at him. Suddenly, he wished he did have a drink or something to fiddle with; to hold in his lap as a distraction.

He looked around the terrace, instead, watching the other patrons chat and laugh so easily and confidently. He'd figured out (after a couple of hours, admittedly), exactly what kind of establishment it was, shortly after he'd mused to himself that the owners really liked rainbows as he nodded along to  _ Small Town Boy _ , and now it seemed glaringly apparent. He'd have words with Pete about that later, he told himself, because it wasn't funny. There was no way it was a coincidence, and now he was surrounded by attractive, muscle-shirted guys who actually held gym memberships, rather than getting their exercise through Wii Fit, and he couldn't help thinking of their trip to Muscle Beach, last week...

"Do you ever just look around and feel like Danny DeVito in  _ Twins _ ?" he asked absently, his tongue loosened and turned electric blue by all the polar bears.

"Like a sack of unnecessary shit? Basically all the time," Joe assured him. "Why?"

"'Why?' Dude, take a look around. This is the market. It's wagyu beef versus canned ham."

"For what it's worth, dude, I tried wagyu beef in Osaka that one time. It was overpriced and overrated. And honestly, I wasn't even like, looking at all the gym bunnies. Or the bears, actually," he said, pressing closer to let an especially buff guy edge past, without so much as a glance. "They don't really do it for me."

"Okay, so you're right - I know not everyone is into that whole look, but…" he trailed off when he realised Joe was frowning down at him with his bottom lip folded and puffed out in exasperation. "What?"

"Nothing. I'm just waiting for us to get to the part in this routine where you're like, 'The bells! The bells!' and I make some shitty joke and change the subject while basically thinking that you're full of crap."

Patrick snorted. "Are you saying I bitch a lot?"

"Actually, you do, but like... I'm under no real illusions as to who reigns supreme on that front. I'm just saying, you know…" He pressed closer again, lowering his voice and pressing his cheek close to Patrick's as he told him in a stage whisper, "I can't speak for anybody here, but I think you're sexy."

For a second, he was sure his heart stopped. It clenched and a crackling freeze radiated out through his chest to his white-hot face. He didn't know how to respond, so he just looked up at him as he leaned away, unsure if he was being teased. But there was something in Joe's face - an optimism and a fear in his eyes, leaving them wide and searching.

"So. There you go. You're attractive to at least one douchebag here, and he's kind of a rockstar…"

Patrick sat very still for a long moment, before grinning into his chest and half-mumbling, "Thanks."

Joe's face was profile lit by string of lights along the wall as he tilted his head to look at him and reached out to chuck his cheek. "Did I make you shy, dude?"

"No, I just..."

"You shouldn't be. There's a whole small nation's worth of people on the internet who'd like you to pound their teeth loose."

Patrick spluttered out a little laugh and cast him a sidelong look, adjusting his glasses. "Oh, stop it…" But as his hand fell from the rim of his lenses, it brushed down the buttons on Joe's shirt and caught at his fingers, tips running over each other hesitantly.

"Really?" Joe asked, quirking his eyebrows at him and leaning close again in an imitation of sultriness as he slid his fingers between Patrick's. "You want me to stop?"

"Hmm…" he mused, sucking his lip and turning on his stool so that Joe was in front of him, his knees parted to let him stand between. Patrick was play acting, now, too - pretending there wasn't a trickle of nerves running down his spine and that he wasn't controlling his breathing carefully. "What else will you do if you stop?"

The little laugh Joe gave seemed to escape him involuntarily, eyes widening for a split second as though Patrick's confident challenge was more than he'd expected in response. He glanced around them covertly, and slowly tilted back his hat with his free hand so he could drop his forehead to press to Patrick's, nose nudging lightly at his. "What kind of score am I gonna get for tonight if I kiss you?"

"Oh, I dunno," Patrick replied, nudging back lightly, wetting his bottom lip while his heart pulsed at his throat, "maybe like… twelve?"

Joe pulled away just a couple of inches, frowning at the breach of his scoring rules. "Twelve?"

"It's one louder, right? One louder than one louder."

There was a small snort of, "You're ridiculous," before he leaned back in - without hesitation, this time - and pressed his lips deliberately to Patrick's cheek, low and close to the corner of his mouth. He lingered there, hand steadying himself on the side of Patrick's thigh, like he was waiting for the encouragement or just making him wait.

"Three," Patrick murmured, pouting and turning his face towards Joe's slightly. "You missed."

Suddenly, Patrick was wet and winded and there was some kind of drink dripping off his chin and Joe was scrambling not to crush him further into the little wooden counter while strangers tried to pick up some drunk girl who'd stumbled in her heels and seemingly crashed into them.

Patrick had never irrationally hated someone quite so intensely in his life as when her friend looked at him and said, "Oh my God! Oh my God, you're Ed Sheeran!" But it wasn't because she was wrong, it was because Joe was huffing and blotting at the wine on his shirt with a handful of napkins someone had passed him and the moment, whatever it was, had gone.

\---

There was something up with Patrick and Pete didn't immediately know what it was, which made it imperative that he found out. 

Maybe it was that guy from the bar or maybe Joe had copped a feel when they disappeared together or maybe it had dawned on him that Pete was far more fun to spend time with on a night out and that was why he brought over their drinks with Joe trailing behind carrying Patrick's and his own.

Pete raised his eyebrows at him questioningly and Patrick just flushed red and shook his head slightly in response.

"That took long enough…"

"Maybe we went for a little hoedown," Joe smirked as he slid into his seat, and Patrick cast him a sidelong, reprimanding look.

"So, who was that dude at the bar?" Pete asked across the table.

Joe's eyeroll as he caught Andy's gaze did not go unnoticed, except by Patrick, who nursed his drink with studious care and shrugged.

"Reece. We went on half a date, once. I left because Joe needed me…"

"Yeah, sorry about that…" Joe drawled, sounding precisely zero percent sorry. "But he's right over there in the corner kissing some dude, so I don't think he's totally heart broke about it."

Patrick looked up sharply and then around the rest of the room. "Oh - yeah, I meant to say to you jerks, did you bring me here  _ on purpose _ ? Do you have  _ any idea  _ how long it took me to figure out where we are?"

"Bring you where?" Pete asked innocently. "To the classics night?"

"To a gay bar!"

"Pete wanted to take you to a gay bar," Joe said, before catching Andy's eye while they sang, "to a gay bar, gay bar,  _ gay bar _ !" together.

"I'll take  _ you _ to a gay bar!" Patrick retorted, indignantly waving a warning finger under his nose.

The way Joe bit his lip and closed his eyes for a second or two, trying not to laugh at him as he wrapped an arm around his neck to pull him into a hug, was honestly kind of sweet. Almost loving.

"Were the topless greeters not a clue, you big dufus?" he asked, pinching Patrick's cheek fondly with his free hand.

"It's hot in here!"

"Aw. You're adorable," Andy teased, grinning at his pouting. "But how have you made it this far in life being this unobservant?"

"There's probably a really pissed off guardian angel following him around, putting out fires and stopping runaway trucks, and stuff…" Pete offered. "And he's like, 'This fucking guy!' Actually, I'm pretty sure the angel is me."

"Actually," Patrick said, fiddling with his drinks mat, "I think it's Joe."

Pete balked. "Yeah, man, fucking as if."

"Yeah, Ric, that's a lot of responsibility, maybe you should appoint Ted, instead," Joe snickered and Patrick nudged him with his elbow but leaned his head on his shoulder as he scrunched his eyes closed. His lips curled up at one side as Joe kissed his forehead and said something that Pete couldn't catch, and the smile broadened as he sat up, giving him a coy glance. Pete immediately wanted to know what was said, but he didn't ask right away. He was willing to play the game all night if he needed to.

"Soooo," he tried, scooting around to sit next to him while Joe went out for a smoke and Andy waited at the bar, a little later, "you and Joe, huh?"

Patrick sighed a little, quirking a half-smile and then chewing at his lip, but he didn't say anything.

"Is the magic happening, dude? Because from where we've been sitting it's like Wylie Coyote tried to catch Roadrunner in Disneyland."

"Ehh, I dunno, y'know?" Patrick shrugged, spinning a drinks mat in his fingers. "I'm having a nice time. I can't exactly speak for Joe…"

"I can. He'd be having, like, a way better time if you were doing what's going on under that table, over there."

Patrick's eyes scanned the booths along the perpendicular wall covertly, but he destroyed any subtlety by physically cringing into a splutter. "I am  _ not _ doing that in here!"

"Just in here, or…?"

"Okay, shush. No. Don't do that - don't try to catch me out because I'm a little - a little -"

"A little interested in sitting on his dick?"

"It's more than 'a little', actually," Patrick finally admitted, bluntly. "But that's not the point. Just let me work it out, okay? I'm not sure if he - "

"He does."

"What?"

"Want to."

"Well, maybe - but if he does -"

"He does."

"- then it's not just, y'know, 'Well, seeing as we can't get lucky with anyone else, you wanna try something out?' It can't be that - there's too much.... too much stuff all mixed up in us. And I mean, if you were staying in somebody's house and you had no place else to go, and they were all, 'Hey, we should maybe…' y'know -" he waved his hand to make clear his point, and then redundantly blurted " - _fuck_ \- then wouldn't you feel like, 'Whoa, was that always the deal?'"

"I like how you did an impression of him, then. ' _ Whoooa _ '. Or maybe you just sound like him because you spend  _ all your time together _ , kind of. But yeah, he's stupid, but he's not that stupid. And I watched him look at you like you were a pot brownie all evening, so… He wants to get extremely high on your supply, little buddy."

"Right, but if that's all it is, then eventually he's gonna come down, no?"

"Not if you keep feeding him your, uh,  _ brownie _ ."

"I really don't know what that metaphor means anymore, but it's gross and you should stop."

Sighing, exasperated that Patrick wouldn't readily accept his advice, he clamped both hands on his shoulders to turn him to look him in the eye, and then patted his cheek softly. "Listen, grandma, he has feelings. Like, sexy-datey feelings. I'm not gonna say the dude's kind of madly in love with you, but the sexy-datey feelings are where you jump off from, okay? Just 'cause you made all of your relationships out of piney-crushy-not-good-enoughy feelings for people who were honestly assholes, doesn't mean that's how it happens all the time. Try it out. See where it goes."

"But what about -"

"Unless one of you treats that kid as your therapist, he doesn't have to know shit until you guys are ready for your picket fence. Quit making excuses, take yourself by the balls and shoot for the easiest fucking target you're ever gonna get."

\---

It was late when they got to Pete's. They didn't leave the bar until after 1am, and that was to get some food that Pete seemed convinced would soak up some of the alcohol already saturating Patrick's bloodstream. 

All Joe wanted to do, now, was to just get home. And 'home' really did feel like Patrick's place, at the moment, but he was also starting to think how it would be a good idea for them both to have their own space again so they could see if this thing held up under its own weight. It was just that he was happy there, and Teddy was happy there, and he was sure that Patrick was happy having them there… so it seemed like a shame to ignore that in order for him to test a theory that may prove itself without intervention.

"Sleepy little Teddy Bear," Patrick murmured, when the cab started to pull away, ducking down to kiss the top of his head while he slept in Joe's arms. Even as tired as Joe was feeling by that point in the night, he smiled and folded his arm up to scratch at Patrick's temple affectionately. 

"Yeah, and he's not the only one, is he?" he said, watching Patrick yawn and smiling at the crinkle of his nose.

"No, no, I'm fine… I'm good."

"You're not 'good', you're wasted, honestly."

Patrick held out his fingers to demonstrate. "Only a teeny little bit…" 

"No,  _ I'm _ only a tiny bit wasted, you're  _ a lot _ wasted, you goof. Let's just get you home so you can sleep it off, right?"

Beside him, Patrick nodded, yawning again and dropping his head onto Joe's shoulder, where he promptly got a headstart on the plan.

When they got in, Joe took Teddy straight to the bedroom, settling him in the big bed because it was easier than climbing over the toys to get to the chaise lounge in the corner. He set him down on one side, knowing that by the time he was ready to come back and get in himself, Teddy would be starfishing in the middle with his hand in his ear, anyway. He resigned himself to four hours' sleep balanced on the edge of the mattress.

Patrick, on the other hand, was standing in the kitchen, lit only by the under-cupboard strips, looking at the Keurig like it was an end of level boss.

"You know what you  _ don't _ need, right now?" Joe asked, stepping up behind him and picking up his hand to use Patrick's own index finger to switch off the outlet. "Coffee. It is way past coffee being useful."

"Well, I don't think it was gonna let me have any, anyway…" he shrugged, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand.

Joe snorted a small laugh in spite of himself and rested his forehead on the back of Patrick's shoulder for a second. His eyes were beginning to feel weighty and he just wanted to get to bed, but he wasn't going to leave him wandering the house all night. "I'm pretty sure it's bedtime, man. You can have coffee when you can kind of like, remember how to use the thing." He started to pull back, intending to guide him to the bedroom door, but Patrick wasn't ready.

"No - no, no, wait - "

He recaptured the hand that Joe had used to direct his, and held on to it, tugging it a little around him and then searching blindly for the other one, until Joe just pushed it into his grasp, mostly to see what he was doing. That arm, too, was tugged around Patrick's middle, so that Joe had no choice but to lean against him, chin on his shoulder.

"So, now what?" he asked, not sure if Patrick had really thought that far ahead. 

Patrick didn't answer, he just tilted his head to rest it against Joe's and made a contented little sound, so Joe had to let him stay there for at least a few moments. He had a peaceful, wistful smile on his face and Joe kind of wondered what was going through his drunken, sleepy mind to make him look like that. He hoped it was this - the comfortable intimacy of cuddling in the kitchen at almost three in the morning - and closed his own eyes for a moment or two to try to draw the same sort of quiet pleasure from it. It wasn't hard. In fact, if he could sleep standing up, he might have tried, like this.

Lightly, once he'd decided he'd given him long enough and there was a real risk that they'd both genuinely fall asleep, he released his grip and gently pushed him to take his own weight, and Patrick did, grumbling wearily. 

"We can't stand here all night, dude…"

"Maybe you could just… Just… y'know, just stay…"

"I am staying, dummy - right across the hall."

"No…" Patrick mumbled, letting go of Joe's hand to scrunch through his hat hair. "I didn't mean that…"

"Well, you missed that pony ride a couple cocktails ago. No can do."

It took him by surprise, slightly, when Patrick chuckled, singing,  _ "I can't go for that - nooo, no can do… _ " as he leaned in again and buried his face in Joe's shoulder.

He grinned at the absurdity of it and couldn't catch himself before he was hmming along, smiling into Patrick's hair, singing the next line with him. This was harder than getting Teddy to bed and they were halfway through the chorus, swaying playfully on the spot, before Patrick leaned away and it developed into a full sing-along, well-practised over years of shared Hall & Oates appreciation, until Joe was giggling and trying to cover Patrick's mouth with his hand to prevent him causing a disturbance.

"Alright, Daryl, curtain call." He brushed the hair out of his eyes lightly, wanting both a clear view of them and an excuse to touch the soft pink at his cheeks; wanting to duck down and press his lips to them softly, as he had earlier, and then maybe to his lips, but wary of being the only one able to remember it, if he did.

He tried not to outwardly react to the fingers pushing under the back of his shirt or the wet lips close to his, because he didn't want to let him see how much he wanted what Patrick was driving at. Not tonight. 

"Seriously, you dork, Ted's gonna be awake in like, three and a half hours, and I really need to get some sleep before then… he doesn't care about hangovers, he just wants to be entertained… and I need to get him to preschool, somehow..."

"Okay," Patrick nodded solemnly, "let's go."

He pulled away, tugging him by the hand and pressing at the wrong spot on the wall three times before he turned the lights out.

"Come… y'know, you should come sleep with me. Just sleep, but together… like we used to."

"We used to because we were tour poor, Ric. What would our excuse be now?" he asked, swallowing, willing to take any reasonable answer, hoping for a meaningful one.

Patrick shrugged loosely. "Who cares?" He gave a sudden, incongruous giggle that felt loud in the peace of the house.

_ Probably Andy _ , Joe thought, but he sighed and accepted he was either going to do this or he was going to spend the night listening to Patrick roam the house, worrying that he'd pass out drunk and leave the stove on or choke on his own vomit or something suitably rockstar-y.

He was still clunking around in his en suite when Joe finished brushing his teeth and taking his pre-bed shower. Joe crept into the guest room to check on Ted as quietly as he could, freezing in the doorway as the tiny body somehow defying the laws of science to fill nearly all the useful areas of the bed, grumbled and stirred. He wouldn't be able to climb in next to Mr Fantastic without waking him, anyway, so he eased the door almost closed and padded back into the kitchen for water, pouring Patrick a glass, too, because he was too ruined for the night to think about getting some for himself. For good measure, he shook a couple of Tylenol out of the bottle to leave them on his nightstand.

"Hey," he said, nudging the bedroom door a little further open with his elbow, "you ready?"

Patrick was standing beside the bed, a spot of toothpaste on his t-shirt, jeans kicked across the floor. He nodded and watched Joe walk over, squinting without his glasses.

"I brought you this. You're gonna need some now, and these are for when you wake up with an EDM show inside your skull."

"Thanks," Patrick said, taking the glass and sipping the water obediently. He seemed to think about it and then said, " _ Thanks _ ," again, a little more deliberately, and, "I'm sorry… I should be doing this for you…"

"Why?"

"I'm a shitty host…"

"I thought you were kind of more than our host…" Joe told him, taking a gulp from his own glass so that he didn't have to look at him as he responded.

"I am - we are, of course, but…" He trailed off, and then looked towards the door. "Is Teddy asleep?"

Joe nodded. "All over my bed, yeah."

Scratching at his hair, Patrick frowned contemplatively and opened his mouth for a long moment before anything came out of it. "Did I ask, before? For you to stay?"

"Yeah," Joe nodded, taking another drink and carefully pushing the door until it was almost closed, the hall light still on in case Teddy did wake up. "Just like old times, right?"

"Yeah," Patrick yawned, sitting on the edge, ready to climb in. "Just like old times."

The sheets smelled fresh, like fabric softener, and the thought lingered with him - mundane but notable for reasons he couldn't place. For a minute or two, they shuffled around, trying to get comfortable; Joe turned in towards the middle of the bed, while Patrick stretched out on his side, turned away, at first. But after a few more moments he flopped back on to his back and when he opened his eyes, Joe could see him staring at the ceiling. He said nothing, waiting - wondering if he was about to get up and go puke, as he'd predicted when Pete was trying to feed him.

Instead, Patrick took a deep breath, opening his mouth to speak, and then closing it again.

"You okay?"

"Yeah… yeah, I am…" Heavily, Patrick turned over again, to face him this time, one hand stuffed under his pillow, the other reaching out to touch Joe's face - not stroking it, just touching as if to check that he was real. "You're good to me."

"And you're good to us, dude - it's what friends do, isn't it?"

"Friends, yeah, but… you're special, y'know? We're special. This - this is special."

"Yeah," Joe told him, softly, feeling his own heart beating against his ribcage. "This is special. Go to sleep. If you still think this is so special when you're not blowing a .25, talk to me then…"

Silently, Patrick nodded and closed his eyes, but then shuffled nearer, until his crooked knees were pressed to Joe's. Joe found himself laughing a little, begrudgingly tucking an arm around him, realising that on some level, Drunk Patrick was getting his own way. He kissed his forehead lightly and left his lips to brush against it on the pillow as they slept, wondering how much Sober Patrick would remember.

  
  



	4. Technology - Part 4

_I am biting my lip_   
_As confidence is speaking to me._   
_I loosen my grip from my palm,_ _  
_Put it on your knee.

  
**_Joe Trohman  
_ ** _Are you up? I need a favor._

Andy had been awake for an hour and was already showered and dressed, because he had a feeling he'd be needed, this morning.

 **_Andy Hurley  
_ ** _Yes, but you're buying me breakfast after. From a real vegan place and you don't get to bitch that there's no bacon._

 **_Joe Trohman  
_ ** _Hard bargain but ill take it._

They sat on the terrace outside the restaurant they chose after dropping Teddy at preschool, just high enough to be able to see over the next building down to the water, and for a while the conversation was idle - the projects they had coming up, the latest ETID album, what the old MisSigs guys were up to - but he still had questions.

"So…" Andy started, as soon as Joe's pancakes were placed in front of him. "Last night?"

Joe just sighed and tilted his head back against the restaurant wall behind him. He probably had his eyes closed, but it was hard to tell behind his sunglasses.

"Did you?"

"No. _No_ , dude, of course not."

Andy just nodded at him sagely. "Wise choice you have made, young padawan."

"I _would have_ , but like... three hours of drinking earlier."

"Yeah," Andy conceded, "I did ask Pete what the hell, when we got home. He was 'helping' apparently."

Joe made a noise of hungover annoyance, clearly not having the energy to be genuinely mad about it but like he might consider dick punching him out of the blue, later.

"If it makes you feel any better, I think he really meant it."

"Yeah, well… I really mean it when I say, 'thanks for nothing, shadchan'."

Andy smirked and dug into his avo toast while he formulated what he wanted to say. "After seeing you guys together, though, I sort of feel vindicated. When he started the whole dating thing I thought, 'This is literally the most terrible idea in a long history of fucking terrible ideas'. That's just not the person Ric is. He's never gonna be good at it. But you and him… you're pretty well matched. You've got what each other wants - or needs, probably - so it's only a matter of time, but… maybe you both need time."

Joe didn't reply immediately. He just pushed his glasses up into his hair and rubbed at his face. His eyes had lilac smudges under them from lack of sleep and he looked a little glassy. He poked at a blueberry with his fork, chasing it feebly around the plate and into a pool of syrup until he gave up and sat back. "I don't wanna miss this chance, man… Like, he's still on the app - there are still fucking hipsters talking to him in bars, trying to get a second date…"

"A second date after he ran out the first time to rescue _you_. Maybe, if you're not sure, you just need to lay it on the table and back away or something? Give it time to germinate."

"I don't know if I could take the weirdness, honestly. I mean, 'Hey, ol' pal, my kid likes you more than me and I guess I started to notice you're pretty hot, so, you wanna shack up?'"

"Your kid does not like Patrick more than you, dumbass."

"Hey, let me have my hyperbole, man. Anyway, until we've got a place to go back to, I don't wanna rock the boat unless I'm pretty sure we can swim, basically…"

"Well, last night that boat seemed to be doing a whole lot of rocking from where we were standing."

Shaking his head, Joe put his fork down on his plate, defeated after just a couple of bites. "Maybe it was rocking - maybe there was like, a point when I was down to capsize the shit out of our metaphorical vessel - but we started taking on water - or cocktails - or more literally, wine, actually - and I'm done rocking."

"So, get out of the water. Did you even chase up with your builders about getting back home?"

Joe shook his head and grimaced, pressing his fingers to his temple. "No… I guess it didn't feel necessary. It's been kind of nice, I guess…" He gave a grim little laugh. "I think these past couple weeks have been the best relationship I've been in and we're actually not."

Andy chewed on his toast for a moment, looking at his increasingly pathetic countenance and sighed. "Who's dealing with the work, again?"

"The building management took it on, why?"

"Gimme the number," he said, pulling out his phone, "I can totally sound like a lawyer."

"What? But -"

"We're getting this over with so you can go home and quit making excuses. I'm not going back out on tour with you losers until you've gotten the rabbit stage out of the way."

\---

The first thought Patrick had when he woke up was, _Oh, God - we're late for school_ , and he almost flung himself out of bed before the second thought caught up with him and he realised that actually, he was going to throw up way before school could be factored into anything.

When he made it out into the hall, he noticed that the house was quiet - dead silent apart from the whirr of the aircon - and when he got as far as the guest room, the door was open and it was empty. The living room and kitchen were empty, too, and when he looked at the clock on the oven he realised it was almost 11am.

It shocked him. He couldn't figure out how he'd slept so long - why they hadn't woken him or how they'd gone anywhere, given that Joe's car was still in the drive.

He found his phone discarded next to the coffee machine and picked it up. There was nothing helpful - a work email from Bob, an update notification for an app he didn't even use - so he found himself fumbling with the touchscreen number pad while he pulled the pain relievers out of the cupboard and accidentally emptied half of the bottle onto the counter.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," Joe's voice said when he answered. "How's your head?"

"Where did you guys go, is everything okay?" he asked, wincing at how loud his own voice felt.

"Ted's in preschool, I'm out with Andy. We figured you needed the sleep, after last night. I left a note."

"Last night?" He wasn't sure if it was panic rising in his chest or whatever was left in his stomach. He took a deep breath and steadied himself a little with a fist over his mouth.

There was hesitation on the line, too, before Joe said, "Last night - when you tried to drink a bar dry?"

"Oh." He'd realised very quickly that he had a hangover, that wasn't a surprise at all - and he'd figured from the fact that his tongue was teal that it had probably been cocktails of some sort - but he couldn't recall much after dancing with Pete. It was a little disturbing that Joe seemed to think whatever happened meant he needed to sleep it off.

"Are you okay, lil' dude? Do you need me to come home?"

"Huh? Uh - no, don't - I mean, spend some time with Andy, I'm fine. Tell him I said hey."

"You sure?" Joe sounded concerned and it twisted something in Patrick's stomach that prodded at a memory in the back of his mind that was just out of reach. Something tender and warm.

"Yeah - yeah, I'll see you when you get home."

He hung up and made himself swallow his Tylenol and took his phone - down to less than 30% battery, where it hadn't been charged over night - back to bed. He curled up on his side, at first, face buried in the pillow to block out the light because he couldn't find the energy to get back out and draw the curtains, and it took a few moments to realise that there was a faint smell to the linens. Pleasant and subtly familiar.

Again, there were ghosts of memories blending in and out of the fog in his head, none of them quite recognisable. He'd started to drift back off to sleep when it suddenly leapt out at him from the shadows - it was Joe. The bed smelled like Joe.

He sat up, quickly, immediately regretting it, and looked around the room for evidence to verify or clarify his abrupt recognition, to prove that Joe had been there. Any sign of things being tidier than he'd left them, or, or -

He saw the glass, then. Two thirds full, with a couple of capsules beside it. There was no way he'd have thought to do that for himself while drunk, which meant that, as a minimum, Joe had been there, last night, and at worst… well.

For a moment, he closed his eyes, mumbling his best Criminal Minds 'You're in the room, what can you see?' to try to remember something - some detail of what had happened. He had clothes on, he realised, which was a good sign. Not that he wouldn't have wanted to wake up naked with the knowledge that Joe had been there, but he'd prefer to remember it. To know if it had gone well, or terribly, and how it had come about.

He realised, distantly, that he had Queen playing in his head under the pounding headache. What that told him he didn't know, until maybe an hour later, when he'd showered and dressed in his least restrictive clothes, and curled up on the couch with a full bottle of water. It came to him in tiny flashes, like a picture chopped up into pieces and scattered out of order - just enough to get a sense of what the image was, but not enough to be sure.

Dancing. Yes, that would make sense, he could remember dancing with Pete. But it wasn't Pete there. Which left… no, it seemed absurd. Joe was not a dancer.

Lights, then - colourful and moving. That seemed like something he could have imagined to fill in the gap, though, given that they were in a bar-come-club and a DJ set was happening. He could still remember that from before he got really wasted.

Maybe he should call Pete and ask what he remembered. If he'd seen anything out of the ordinary. But at the same time… did he honestly want to admit to anyone that he genuinely couldn't remember most of his night or how somebody might have ended up in his bed, or what that might have involved?

He was ashamed of himself, honestly. Ten years ago, he was all but straight edge, and now he'd drink so much he rendered himself incompetent.

So, no, he wouldn't ask Pete - or anyone - he'd just see what he could deduce from their interactions when Joe got home. Who knew, maybe it was his being so drunk that made it necessary for Joe to stay?

He clung to the idea - the watchful friend sticking around to take care of him, making sure he didn't go the way of Bon Scott - because as embarrassing as it was, it was way better than some of the other options.

His heart almost stopped at the sound of the side door opening, that afternoon. He'd hardly moved all day and his legs felt like jelly when he started to stand, but he still smiled at the little voice rabbiting away to Joe.

"Hey," he said, meeting them at the kitchen door. "You're back. No Andy?"

"Nah, he went back to Pete's," Joe shrugged, setting Teddy down on the counter so he could take off his shoes for him. "How're you feeling?"

"Pretty shocking, honestly," he admitted, trying for a chagrined smile and scratching his head, absently. He knew he was blushing, but maybe Joe would put it down to his hangover.

"Yeah, I kind of assumed you'd feel like a barrel of donkey poop," he glanced at Teddy, who was giggling behind his hands at the word 'poop', and ruffled his hair, "so I kept him out as long as I could, but he wanted to come see you when I said you were sick…"

"Aw," Patrick said, making his way over to where Teddy was sat and kissing the top of his head. The vague and permanent scent of white chocolate and powder paints, that all kids under five seemed to carry, was a little too sweet and he quickly backed away, not wanting Teddy to think he was the one who made him ill. "Thanks, little guy."

He loitered close to Joe, trying to give an open-to-being-kissed-hello vibe, to see if Joe would; like maybe a precedent had been set the night before. But he just pulled Teddy's rucksack off his shoulder and didn't seem to notice Patrick's efforts at all.

"Ted, what have you got in your bag?" Joe asked, holding it in front of him.

He half-covered his mouth with his hand, grinning, and whispered, "I made a picture."

"You did? That's awesome - what's it of?"

It turned out to be of some paint smeared across a piece of paper, but Teddy was adamant that it was a picture of Patrick, despite it having no recognisable human features. It did have a black bit on top that might have been a hat, possibly, but it didn't matter whether it looked like him, or just like the paints spilled across the table, it was the very first picture Teddy had made him and he kind of wanted to cry.

"It's me?"

The happy, toothy grin Teddy gave as he nodded vigorously looked just like Joe. He had the same slight underbite and his eyes scrunched in just the same way.

"Thank you so much, Teddy, this is beautiful." He swallowed and blinked furiously so he didn't look like a fool.

Joe tried not to snicker aloud bedside him and slid an arm around his shoulders to pull him into a half-hug. "Sap."

For a moment, he almost turned his nose into Joe's neck, breathing in that warm, woody, citrusy scent again, but covered it with mild indignance as he shrugged him off. "Hush. I'm very pleased. I just don't have any magnets or anything to put it on the fridge…"

Joe seemed to think for a second, and then said, "Wait there."

When he returned, he was unboxing some pickups and pushed one into his hand.

"Try that."

"Why are you even carrying Seymour Duncans?"

"It was in my bag from last time I used it, on tour. And now it's a $100 fridge magnet."

It was only when Joe picked Teddy up to take him to change out of paint-splashed clothes that Patrick realised he'd thought ' _again_ '. When was the last time he'd sniffed him? The night before?

He was still musing on it while they cooked dinner in the kitchen, once Patrick's stomach had recovered enough to handle some homemade mac'n'cheese, dutifully stirring the sauce while Joe leaned around him to grate cheese into the saucepan. In the living room, Joe had put on one of his LPs - _Like A Prayer_ , of all things, which seemed weird when it was on the same shelf as _Master of Puppets_ \- and Teddy was singing along at the table, nonsensically, because he didn't know the real words.

Just for a moment, reaching for the pepper grinder on the counter, Joe leaned in and his weight pressed Patrick to the handle on the oven door and his hand steadied him against Patrick's waist. It was like a strobing flash of lightning in his memory - at the bar, getting a drink, too many people, Joe pressed close against him, trying hard to breathe normally at the contact.

He immediately felt his face roll with prickling heat, and wiped his suddenly sweaty brow on his sleeve, hoping he could pass it off as the heat from the cooker.

By the time they'd put the dish in the oven and sat down at the table to help Teddy draw pictures - Ted sitting on Joe's lap, and Patrick beside them, all leaning over the thin pages of his art pad, sketching on his command while he giggled - he'd almost let it go. So, they were crowded at the bar - that didn't mean anything. He could just as easily have been crowded against Pete or Andy, or a stranger, possibly. Except the image of the alternatives crushed against his ass didn't send him into sweats.

Patrick tried not to think about when else Joe might have wound up in his personal space, the night before, while they sat and ate dinner, but he couldn't help it. It was as though he'd conjure up possible scenarios to see if the puzzle piece fitted, or if it would jog his memory in some way, but by the time Joe went to put Teddy to bed he was just flat out daydreaming. He sat on the couch with his feet up, the TV on with the sound low so as not to pique Teddy's interest from down the hall and keep him from sleeping, and rested his face on his hand, waiting for Joe to finish. The only reason he hadn't already gone to bed was that he hoped once they had a little time together, maybe Joe would take the opportunity to say something.

For a few moments it seemed like his hopes might be realised, because Joe finally sank down onto the couch beside him and thought for a minute or two, before starting, "So, um… there's probably something we should talk about, I guess?"

Patrick's heart skipped a beat and he took a nervous breath, shifting in his seat to sit up straighter. "Um. Right. Sure, let's… talk."

When he looked over at him, Joe seemed faintly confused. He blinked a little and smoothed at his pyjama pants, straightening the hem around his ankle where it was tucked under him. "Yeah, so… the apartment's kind of ready."

"Oh." _Oh_. Oh, that was not what he'd hoped to hear. Not in any way.

"Yeah. I mean, Andy kind of called the management guy today and gave them hell for it, so now I sort of feel like we need to get back, seeing as it was specifically being painted today, and everything."

"Right. Yeah. I mean, of course - if… if it's done, then I can see why you'd want to get back, I guess?" It was hard to keep the disappointment out of his voice, so he forced a smile, wondering if what had gone on the night before was driving this. Fearing it.

"Right…" Joe nodded slowly, watching him and then looking away when Patrick evidently didn't react in the way he was expecting. Neither of them said anything for a minute or two, until Joe abruptly got to his feet and said, "Do you, like, want a beer or something…?"

"Uh…" Patrick pulled himself upright with the arm of the couch, "no. No, y'know what? I think I'm gonna head to bed. But you stay up, if you want…"

Joe just carried on nodding, but he was biting something back and Patrick could see it in the way his jaw tightened and his eyebrows lifted slightly. It had taken a long time to learn to read the signs, but he'd definitely picked up that one in the last year or two. "Okay, great."

"Is it? I mean… if you want me to hang out, I will, I just…"

"No, man, you're good. You're good…" He smiled, but it was heavy, dragged down at the corners under its own weight.

"Really? Because, y'know… you don't need to rush to get back home, if you wanna stay. Or - or, like, wait to the weekend or something. That would give you more time, really…"

"Ehhh, I take your point, but preschool is like four whole hours of freedom to figure our junk out ready to ship out, so…"

"Oh - yeah, I mean, of course. That makes sense," Patrick nodded, and there was a little lump in his throat, suddenly. He swallowed and scratched a hand through his hair, wanting to say, _Don't go_ , and perhaps it was his hangover making him slow, but somehow the words, "I wish you could stay," tumbled out unchecked. Hurriedly, he added, "It's been nice having company, y'know? The place is gonna be so quiet…" And lonely. Really, really lonely.

Joe's movements seemed almost reluctant as he unfolded his arms with a sad lethargy and stepped nearer to pull him into a bear hug. "We've liked being here, dude. Like, I know I said it and everything, but thanks for going out of your way to take care of us in our like, two weeks of need. We'll miss you, too - and not just the little guy, me as well. But we were hanging out every day before the ceiling fell down, so… we need to go home, but I don't want that to change. I still want you to come hang out with us and for us to go to the park or whatever, together."

"Yeah?" Patrick asked, his mouth pressed to Joe's shoulder as he hugged him tight, breathing in and finding no trace of his cologne, just that old familiar Joeness he used to cuddle up next to in the van. Always clean, somehow, even when they'd been stranded without a shower.

" _Yeah_. Any time you wanna be around, you're welcome. You basically keep me sane when my whole life is Dora the Explorer and stepping on Legos."

He couldn't help but laugh at the image and squeezed him as he let go, feeling better about the whole prospect. Maybe Joe wasn't running out because of some forgotten embarrassment from last night, after all.

"And I mean, if you want - if you're actually not, like, sick of seeing us or anything - maybe tomorrow night you could come back with us and hang out? I could make dinner or something, probably…" He trailed off, shrugging. "Like, if you wanted."

"Yes. _Yes_ , I would love that, dude. Thanks."

Joe's smile was lighter, now - brighter, like he, too, felt more optimistic about the whole situation. "Cool."

They both hesitated for a few beats, still standing close and grinning at each other, the urge to fight sleep and stay up with him - to sit together on the couch and try to draw something out of their last night, be it footrubs or cuddles or some kind of lazy making out, was almost overpowering. But the yawn that forced its way out of him pointedly poured scorn on that idea.

"So, I should sleep," he said, rubbing at his eye tiredly.

"Yeah, go sleep, dancing queen. We can hang out tomorrow."

Patrick froze a second, frowning at him. "Dancing queen?"

" _Oh_ yeah," Joe smirked, reaching out for his hand and lifting it to twirl him, woodenly. "It was like Ginger Rogers discovered '80s pop, last night."

"Oh no, really?!" he cringed. "I feel like I have a whole bunch of gaps in last night, was it bad? I didn't act like a jerk or anything, did I?"

"No more than usual," Joe told him, poking him playfully in the belly. "You're kind of a ridiculous drunk, with your whole vaudeville thing, but we knew that… All in all, I'd score you an eight."

For a long moment, Joe looked at him intently, as though he was expecting the memory to resolve into sharp focus, suddenly; but it didn't and he snorted to himself before elaborating. He was still smiling a little, but it was bright, amused by whatever memories he'd conjured.

"Pete kept buying you dumbass juice and fed you a veggie burger at like 1.30am, and then when we got here, you totally failed to make yourself coffee because you couldn't find the 'on' button, and I failed to get some room in my own bed, because Ted The Human Octopus was spread all over it, so you let me crash in your room like the old days and I figured I'd make sure you didn't die in your sleep. The End."

"Oh. Oh, well… that's good, I guess. Thanks for looking out for me."

"No problem. You kind of announced to everyone that I was your guardian angel, last night, so I figured I should at least live up to it…" He was grinning now, looking at him just under his eyelashes, and it was no longer clear whether he was just plain teasing him.

"I did?"

"Oh yeah. I mean, I tried to tell you Ted would probably be better at it, but I don't think you bought it. But then we came home and had like, a neat little singalong to some Hall & Oates until we got too loud and I made you go to bed instead of waking him up and you don't seem dead, exactly, so actually, I guess I kind of pulled it off…"

Patrick chuckled at Joe's ridiculous anecdote, frowning at the stream of allegorical conjecture. It was reassuring. Maybe he hadn't shamed himself or exposed his feelings or made them both uncomfortable, after all.

He had a sense, though, even as he nodded and said, "Well, good job, Gabriel," and gave him a goodnight hug before heading off to the very same bed, that it wasn't the whole story. There were still too many gaps and he couldn't figure it out at all until he was laying there, curled into the pillow that still smelled faintly of him, on the verge of sleep. His limbs felt like they were swimming, or the bed was spinning, in that surreal way they sometimes did as he was drifting off, but in his head he could hear the sea and… Madonna. Madonna, but in the wrong tempo, the wrong chorus and then the wrong voice, until it became Freddie Mercury's. _Oooh, love - oooh, lover boy…_ And he'd been laughing. He'd been happy and - the song floating through his mind morphed back to Madonna, _cherish the thought of always having you here by my side_ , and over the top of that, a chant, familiar and ridiculous and wrong, somehow, _Kiss him! Kiss him!_ And then his whole body jerked with a fall in his half-slumbering mind, like the gears of a great machine crunching and grinding to a halt. The whole thing stopped and his eyes were open.

The memory had formulated right there in his mind's eye.

\---

Pete was sitting out by the pool with Andy and Meagan, tiki candles and the underwater uplighters giving them just enough light to see by in the magical dark of the late evening, when his phone started ringing.

"Uh oh," he grinned, holding it up to show them both. "Thing One's awake. Are we doing a sweepstake on whether they banged yet or how long it's gonna take?"

He didn't wait for either of them to reply, just dodged the slap Meagan aimed at the back of his hand and swiped to accept the call. "What's up, Fred Astaire?"

There was silence on the line, at first, and for a second he hoped he'd been butt-dialed in a moment of passion, but then realised that this would mean having to listen to Joe's love grunts and he didn't want his nuts to shrivel up and die.

"Why would you say that?" Patrick's voice demanded, finally, wavering under the weight of forced evenness.

"Say what?"

"Fred Astaire. Why would you say that?"

Pete shrugged, gesturing at his phone and rolling his eyes at the other two, who were both very clearly listening and pretending not to. "I mean, you were there last night, dude, you should know."

"Should I?" Patrick hissed, and Pete realised for the first time that he was trying to keep his voice down. Which could only mean - well. Something. He wasn't sure, yet.

"Yeah, dude. You were hoofing to vintage queer anthems on and off the whole night. Don't you remember, kind of?"

"No. No, I don't, not really. I mean, Joe told me I was dancing, but that's all..."

"Oh. Wow. That kind of sucks, dude…" He caught the sharp look that Andy gave him, giving up all pretense of not listening, and waved him away to assure him it was nothing.

"It does. So, I need you to tell me what you saw, last night. No games, Pete, I'm not ready for games, tonight, okay?"

"Well, like… where d'you want me to begin, man?"

"I need you to begin with dancing, okay? Who did I dance with?"

"Uh… I figure you don't mean the old dude who was trying to grind on you at like, 1am, so… me, and Trohman."

"Joe. You're telling me I danced with Joe? In public. _Our_ Joe."

Pete smirked. "Your Joe, sure. I mean, we assumed you were dancing, dude. You weren't exactly in our line of sight, for a bunch of songs, but you were in the vicinity of the dancefloor, kind of. And then you went to the bar holding hands, so… Either you were dancing or you were making out in a corner. And judging by the way he basically dragged you away from that one dude you said you dated, and the way you were like, sitting in his lap by the time we left, we both kind of assumed…"

The deathly silence on the line had returned. He'd never heard the sound of nothing come off more like panic, before.

"Dude?"

Patrick didn't say anything. Maybe he was having a heart attack. Or beating off, probably.

Across the table, Andy sighed heavily and announced, "Nothing happened. I asked Joe."

"I'm being assured you did not drunk-bone Joe, if that makes it any better."

" _What_?"

"Andy says you did not score. Better luck next time."

"You're having this conversation with other people there?!"

"Well, I mean, you didn't say it was private, or whatever… And anyway, he has answers, I don't."

"Is there anybody else there?"

Pete cast a glance at Meagan, who was still politely ignoring it all and scrolling through her phone. "No…" It was almost true, anyway. "But anyway, back to the main story - Joe said you did not bang. So… is that a good thing, or…?"

"Of course it's a good thing - you think I'd not want to know, if I did?"

"Well, I mean, better best forgotten, or whatever?" Pete tried. "But - it's like I said last night, dude - he's into it. If boning him is what you wanna do, you should just go for it. Honestly, I think you could both do with getting laid, lately…"

\---

They'd arrived back at Joe's almost at Teddy's bedtime on Friday, with bags of things that had gradually been picked up and migrated to Patrick's over the course of the past couple of weeks. Patrick had come with them, obviously - Joe couldn't have faced saying goodbye to him at his front door as they left him behind to rattle around his empty house. He almost imagined him wandering from room to room, looking for them, like his grandma's dog had after they rehomed her puppies.

He wasn't looking forward to nights alone in the apartment after he'd put Teddy to bed, even though Patrick had been there hanging out with him most nights before the flood, anyway. The truth was, he wasn't looking forward to not having the certainty of his proximity at all times. Especially after the last day or two.

When he'd woken up, that day, Patrick had been up already. Dressed, even. He was sitting in the garden with his morning coffee, and he waved a little when Joe stepped up to the open doorway to see if he was out there. They'd just looked at each other for the longest time; until Teddy jumped down the step and ran over to climb on to the bench beside him, and Patrick had finally broken into the wide, bright smile he reserved for moments when he had Ted's attention.

It had made it even harder to think about packing their things while he was in preschool.

He had, though, with Patrick standing on the threshold, trying to make enough of a conversation that he had a reason to be there. The unspoken questions weighted the air in the room, until he wanted nothing more than to throw open the windows and breathe - except, perhaps, for the question itself to be asked. It wasn't. Instead, they just bumped and brushed each other like they were trying to shake some answers loose. But there were no apples falling from that tree, just yet.

"You gonna want dinner soonish, or..?" he asked, crouching down to let Teddy stand on his own two feet so he could run to the bathroom to see if it was still wet, hoping to eek out as much time together as possible.

Teddy gave an audible gasp from the hall, yelling, "Is dry, Daddy!"

"Good job, little man - must've been all your towel stomping…"

Patrick chuckled at their exchange and scratched the back of his head. "Uh - I don't mind, y'know? I mean, are you sure I won't get in the way or anything?"

He put down Teddy's little wheelie bag and straightened up, opening the fridge to get out a couple of beers and put them on the counter. "Why would you be getting in the way? I invited you, didn't I? Nothing changed, dude, you're still like, our third musketeer. And you're babysitting tomorrow."

The laugh Patrick gave was a little flat but he tucked an arm around Joe's side for a hug. "Yeah," he said, and it sounded forlorn. "I know."

Joe opened his mouth to tell him he meant it, but Teddy barrelled back into the room and dragged him off to see that the bathroom was indeed dry. He glanced back over his shoulder as he went, though, and already Patrick was tugging the phone back out from his pocket to climb onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

He remained there, drinking Joe's beers and dicking around on the internet, while Joe gave Teddy a quick bath and got him ready for bed.

"Daddy, is Patrick sad?" Teddy asked, stepping into his Spider-Man pyjamas as Joe held them out for him.

"Um… I think he's a little sad his favourite person isn't sleeping over, anymore, maybe."

"Who's that?"

"Oh, just some nosy little guy who needs to focus on putting his jammies on because Daddy can't crouch like this for long."

Teddy looked at him for a moment, and then exclaimed at the top of his voice, "TEDDY?!"

"Shh!" Joe whispered, playfully covering his mouth with his hand. "It's not cool to talk about people when they aren't around. So you have to pretend like you aren't and you didn't, okay? That's a proper, grown up rule."

He tried not to burst out laughing as Teddy mimed zipping up his mouth, still grinning so widely all his little teeth were on show.

"I think your zipper's broken, bud. But I think I have an idea that'll make Uncle Patrick super happy. You wanna help?"

Teddy didn't take much convincing and Joe propped himself in the doorway, grinning as he watched him trot into the kitchen, holding his favourite book up to Patrick, waiting to see his face.

"You do it?"

Patrick blinked down at him from his stool for a second, then looked at Joe, for clarity.

"He wants you to do his bedtime story," he said, enjoying the blush and the grin that rose with it.

"Oh. Oh, I mean… sure, I guess… If Dad doesn't mind?"

" _Dad_ has that one memorised. _Dad_ would consider it a reprieve for which he would be eternally indebted."

"Then, sure, of course," Patrick said, and he smiled - the most convincing smile he'd given all day - as he slid off his seat and scooped up Teddy, book and all. He paused next to Joe in the doorway. "Are you gonna give Daddy a kiss goodnight, first?"

"No!"

"Yes, you are, you little toad," Joe told him, kissing him on the forehead as he giggled and scrunched his nose. Then, on a whim, he ducked in and kissed Patrick's, too, watching him stick out his tongue at Teddy like Joe cooties were gross, but he was turning an endearing pink and the outlook seemed to improve just a little. "Goodnight, tiny dude. No playing Uncle Patrick for extra stories, okay?"

\---

It took the better part of an hour for Patrick to read Teddy his stories and answer his questions about whether he was going to sleep over with them, now, and he only knew that because Joe had had to come and tell him dinner was ready.

On a certain level, he'd been the one responsible for all the stories, because he was nervous. He'd made a decision and promised himself he'd stick to it - that he'd take a chance, tonight. That after what he'd remembered - still hazy but enough that his heart sputtered every time he thought of Joe's mouth against his cheek or his arms around him on the dancefloor - and what Pete had told him, he had to strike while the iron was still hot. Who knew how quickly they'd cool off, once they weren't in each other's space all the time, anymore?

They ate together at the breakfast bar and Patrick insisted that Joe leave the dishes for him to do when the pan had had time to soak, because Joe had insisted on keeping the kitchen tidy the whole time they'd stayed. It was a way of returning the favour, and an excuse to stick around that little bit longer. So, they settled in the living room with their drinks and Netflix, close enough together that when Patrick pulled his feet up to sit cross-legged, his knee rested on Joe's thigh. His skin felt warm at the touch, hotter than it should just from the contact through two pairs of jeans. It got warmer still, when Joe dropped his hand on Patrick's knee while trying to get him to remember the name of his creepy Scientologist date, and didn't really remove it.

"Why are you even asking?" Patrick said, in the end. "Are you thinking of asking him for a second date?"

Joe snorted in derision, " _No._ "

"Why don't you just look it up on your app?"

Beside him, Joe shrugged and drummed his fingers on his bottle. "I deleted it, actually."

"You did?" Patrick blinked, surprised. He pulled out his phone to check, and he was right, his account was gone. "I mean… why? When?"

"This morning… I guess I kind of lost interest."

"Oh." Patrick wasn't totally clear on what that meant, but he was a little disappointed. Even though their ridiculous flirting games had tailed off when they were living in the same house, he'd kind of missed them. "So, I guess you don't need me to rate you, anymore…"

"Well, I mean, like… did you want to keep doing that whole thing, or… I wasn't sure that it was like, totally necessary?"

"I dunno, man, maybe." Maybe what he wanted was for Joe to keep sending him messages first thing in the morning and before bed, now that they wouldn't be together all the time, and to have an excuse to take him out to dinner… Not that this had happened recently, with Ted to look after, but it could. He wanted it to.

Joe was quiet for a minute, taking a mouthful of his drink. "So, what were you thinking?"

"Well, I mean - nothing specific, dude, just… I don't know. You're right, it's stupid -"

"I didn't say that, actually."

"No, no, I know, but…"

"Can test run you on the whole Netflix 'n' chill thing, if that helps," Joe offered, but he was smirking as he squeezed Patrick's knee.

"Um. I don't know what that means…"

"You don't?" Joe teased. "Not down with the kids, anymore, eh? I mean, basically, it's inviting someone over to watch Netflix with an agenda, if you get my meaning. In my case, it'd be more likely to mean 'come over, watch Netflix, give me the cold shoulder', but your mileage may vary."

"Why would anyone do that?"

"I don't know, man, I guess kids are too broke for dates, these days…"

"No, dumbass, I meant giving you the cold shoulder."

Joe shrugged. "You'd have to ask the girls I dated, but it was a pretty consistent trend…"

"Well," Patrick told him, resolute after what was the majority of his fourth beer of the evening, "I'll show you how it's done, then, and those girls can go… I don't know. Fuck themselves."

The fact that Joe dribbled beer down his chin trying not to laugh at him was only a little insulting. "Thanks, lil' dude," he said, finally letting go of Patrick's knee and wrapping his arm around his shoulders to pull him in to lean against him, while wiping his face with the other. "You always know what to say."

"Oh -- fuck you!" Patrick retorted, elbowing him in the ribs. But he was laughing, too, through the warmth in his cheeks and he shuffled down to rest his head on Joe's shoulder and tuck his feet over to the side so he wasn't uncomfortably hunched.

"That's how this is supposed to work, anyway…"

"Yeah, well. We'll see." He couldn't stop his heart racing, suddenly, and if Joe knew it he was just plain fucking with him when he kissed the top of Patrick's head and poked him in the side of the chest to make him squirm. "Three!" he snapped. "Bad start."

Joe just giggled and finished his beer.

\---

By the time _Punch-Drunk Love_ finished, Joe didn't really want to move; he was comfortable, aside from one foot being numb on the coffee table. Patrick had hardly stopped talking; commenting and mimicking and quipping until Joe'd half lost the thread of the movie because he was too distracted. In other circumstances, he'd have told him to shut the fuck up an hour ago, but he didn't want him to. He was enjoying it, because he'd known Patrick since they were sixteen and he'd seen Patrick awkwardly try to pick people up, over the years, seen him trying to impress girls way beneath his mark and failing, because his mouth wouldn't stop. He'd say dumb stuff, nerdy stuff, goofy stuff, falling over himself in an attempt to be funny because he thought funny was sexy - anything except let them talk, because he was sure the moment he stopped talking they'd walk off. And in general, he wasn't wrong - it was a vicious circle of social awkwardness and lack of confidence.

And tonight, sitting on Joe's couch, Patrick had just ruined a mediocre rom-com they'd thought was something else when they started watching, and he knew what it meant. He knew it. There was still every chance that Patrick didn't, but Joe did.

"You wanna watch something else?" he asked, hoping the answer would be yes - to buy himself time to get more 'chill' with his Netflix.

"Yeah," Patrick nodded, yawning, and sitting up to stretch. "I need to pee and get another drink, but after, yeah… Oh - and I need to wash the dishes," he added, absently.

"You don't need to worry about those, dude - I'll do it in the morning.

Patrick almost rolled as he climbed off the couch, stumbling to his feet like he'd lost the sensation in both legs - either through being curled up on the couch for two hours, or from mild drunkenness. Joe just watched him, unable to stop smiling at the pink in Patrick's cheeks, dappled in the apples like he'd just woken from a nap. "No - no, let me do it," he said, "I'm a good date, I don't want you marking me down, right?"

"Well, I mean… _you_ could do it in the morning, if you play your cards right..." He wagged his eyebrows at him, suggestively and Patrick's flushed face reddened further, his lip disappearing between his teeth as he scratched through his hair.

"You're gonna let me stay?" he asked, quirking one eyebrow back at him.

Joe looked him in the eye and gave an over-exaggerated wink. "Depends how you play those cards, dude."

"I guess in that case, I should up my game… But like, seriously, after I pee, man, 'cause…"

"Well, 'in that case', you better go," Joe replied, grinning, the rush that had accompanied their Tinder flirtations running through him with a new intensity. "When you come back, bring the little dude who twerked on stage in devil horns and prepare to get vigorously disappointed."

He could hear Patrick giggling all the way into the bathroom.

When Patrick did come back out, he stopped behind the couch, looking down at him with a tentative smile and lip-nibbling uncertainty; or perhaps it wasn't uncertainty so much as resolution, because his hands settled on Joe's shoulders and rubbed firmly.

"Ooh, eight," Joe grinned, shifting a little to encourage him to keep going, his head tilted back against the cushions so he could look up at him, even though his eyes drifted closed at the fingers lightly kneading at his muscles.

"Only eight?" Patrick asked with a little huff of a laugh, but Joe could feel it breezing across his ear and when he tilted his head to the side and his nose bumped into Patrick's cheek where he'd bent down.

"It'd be higher if you were doing that to some other part of me," he joked, leaning his forehead against Patrick's cheek and then snatching a little peck there, instead. He could even hear the little hitch in Patrick's breath as he did it, before he was gone, straightened up and pulling away.

Joe's stomach dropped and he opened his eyes to look around and see where he was going, afraid that he'd moved too far, too fast. But Patrick wasn't heading out to the hall for his shoes, he was standing at his knees, gazing down at him. His lips were a little parted and glistening in the light of the lamp on the side table next to Joe's arm.

They stared at each other. Joe's heart raced. He shifted his hips slightly, creating a little room between his thigh and the arm of the couch, not really sure what he was doing until Patrick edged nearer, reaching out a hand, first, to prop himself over Joe on the back of the seat. It was a ridiculous position, even if it brought them almost nose to nose, and so he pulled slightly at his hip, and Patrick took the encouragement without contest, pressing his knee into the gap Joe had created and then lifting the other over his lap carefully.

All the air was disappearing from Joe's chest, but he managed to murmur, "Well, if you don't want to get like, an eleven, you should stop right now…"

"Yeah," Patrick nodded, his chin down, now, but his eyes still on Joe's and his face softly crimson, "I know. I'm going for that twelve..."

" _Oh…_ well, if that's the thing, then…" Joe's fingers trailed to his hips and caught him around the waist, pulling him nearer, and Patrick readily followed. The little breath of a laugh tickled at his lips as Patrick ducked down and nuzzled against him.

Emboldened, Joe's fingers wove their way into the pockets at the back of Patrick's jeans, pulled tight across his spread thighs, and he leaned in to place a small kiss under his ear, nipping gently when Patrick sighed at the touch. Patrick squirmed and laughed at that, making a ticklish hissing sound as he tried not to squeal like a little girl and wake the sleeping three year old in the room opposite, but he didn't try to pull away. Instead, he bumped his nose lightly to Joe's, first, then his forehead, and Joe's grasp tightened on the body under his hands, involuntarily, his breath catching in his throat. Patrick must have been holding his breath, too, because in the moment before he tilted his head to press his mouth to Joe's he exhaled hard and the feel of it on his lips sent shivers up his spine.

\---

Patrick had only really planned to talk. Or, talk and flirt. And maybe kiss a little to seal the deal. He hadn't planned to have a bunch of drinks - really he thought he'd be off booze for a while, after the mess of their night out - and he hadn't planned to end up straddling Joe with his shirt somewhere down the end of the couch, but he was; breathless as he was lightly pushed back and watched him drag off his own shirt, dropping it somewhere on the floor and pressing back in to Patrick's bare chest and kissing him again. But it was almost as if they'd set in motion an unstoppable initiation sequence and he couldn't think about propriety or modesty or what they'd say to each other later, while he was fumbling his hands at Joe's zipper with hasty determination.

"We should, uh - bedroom, dude," Joe mumbled, kissing at his neck until Patrick nodded and climbed unsteadily off his lap. "I'll lock the front door."

Patrick picked up his shirt and glasses from where they'd been discarded, out of breath and singularly driven, his heart pounding through his ears and his throat as he made his way to Joe's bedroom, realising that this meant he was actually staying and they were actually going to do this. That the things they'd offered to do to each other in Tinder messages were on the table, suddenly. He stopped by the dresser, leaning down to check himself in the mirror, run his fingers through his mussed hair, and grinning encouragingly at his reflection until Joe caught up and pressed himself tight against him, hands reaching round to finish the unbuttoning he'd started.

He felt outside of himself, punch-drunk - or just gleefully alcohol drunk - and giddy and he was giggling at the feel of stubble on his neck, squirming and ticklish and somehow, with a thud that made him gasp, he found his thighs against the dresser and everything on that side of it cacophonously and unceremoniously floored.

The sudden noise was jarring in the quiet, and Joe laughed against his skin, pushing at his waistband, but Patrick stilled, suddenly alert.

"Joe."

"Mmm?"

"Joe, listen."

The air behind him was cold as Joe pulled back, the warmth where his skin had been pressed to Patrick's suddenly lost.

From the room next door was a low, sleepy grizzle.

Joe's forehead fell against the back of Patrick's shoulder for a moment, his arms sliding back around his waist to squeeze him apologetically. "Crap."

"Yeah."

"I'll be right back," Joe said, buttoning himself back up and leaning in to kiss his jaw.

"Sure. Of course, go."

It was kind of awkward, sitting in Joe's room, perched on the end of a bed he'd never slept in, half naked and turned on and listening to Joe's voice shushing and whispering to his child next door. But he waited, and listened to the creak of footsteps pacing the floor. He found his glasses and slid them back on. It gave him time to slowly start to sober up, adrenaline fading, chilliness from the aircon settling goosebumps on his skin. He turned his shirt back in the right way and pulled it back on against the cold. He didn't know what time it was when they made it into the bedroom, but it was at least fifteen minutes since he last checked the time, and it started to feel kind of inevitable, somehow, that this was their night over.

\---

"Dude, please," Joe whispered against Teddy's hair, "please go back to sleep. I promise you're safe."

Teddy just sobbed incoherently, pointing at the door. They'd been doing this for almost thirty minutes already.

"There's nothing wrong, it's all fixed, remember? You wanna see again? C'mon, I'll show you there's no hole in the roof." He carried him out to the bathroom and turned on the light. "Look, lil' buddy. It's fine. It's all fine. Okay? So, let's go back to Teddy's room and sleep now, okay?"

"No, Daddy's bed."

Joe's heart sank. "Oh, c'mon, really? But you have your own bed, Teddy. Please, not Daddy's bed, not tonight."

"I stay Daddy's bed," Teddy insisted, rubbing at a teary eye with his fist.

Looking at the wet streaks on his face and the drooly pout of his little lip, he couldn't bring himself to refuse. So, he turned out the bathroom light and pushed open his bedroom door carefully. "You decent, dude?"

"Yeah."

By the dresser, Patrick was already standing, fully dressed and awkward. He forced as smile as their eyes met; the moment had passed and they both knew it.

"Hey," he said softly, reaching out to catch Ted's hand and jiggle it fondly. "You had a bad dream?"

Teddy nodded, rubbing at his eye, sleepily.

"I'm sorry, man, I think the noise woke him and he's all shaken up because it's our first night back. He thought the ceiling came down again."

"Yeah," Patrick nodded, resignedly, trying hard to smile. "I figured. Poor Teddy, huh?"

"Yeah, and poor Daddy."

Patrick chuckled flatly, rubbing his arm and letting his fingers hang there just for a moment. "So. I think I'm gonna go."

"You don't need to leave, dude -"

"I do. I don't wanna confuse him, right now, and he needs you. So, I'll go. It's fine, I promise. And I'll see you both tomorrow anyway, right?"

"Okay," Joe sighed, reaching out and squeezing Patrick's hand. "Thanks. For getting it."

"Well," Patrick joked, dismally, squeezing back, "neither of us are getting it, so…"

Joe laughed with him, trying not to feel bitter disappointment. "You want me to call you a cab?"

"No, I'm good, I'll flag one down."

"Around here?"

"Yeah, I'll walk down to that hotel, there's always taxis at hotels."

Joe followed him to the front door, waiting on the threshold, Teddy now nuzzled quietly into his shoulder. "I'm sorry tonight wasn't exactly… awesome."

"No, it was. It was, y'know… a ten," Patrick assured him with a tight smile, rubbing comfortingly at Teddy's back. "Take him to bed, he's tired."

Nodding, Joe leaned in to kiss him goodbye, hoping he wouldn't forget what they'd both been so into, by the next morning, but Patrick dodged it with a self-conscious giggle.

"Not right now. I don't want things to be weird for him, or... y'know…"

"Oh. Right, yeah, good point, I guess." He didn't truly think it'd matter, given that he could hear Ted's little pre-snore snuffles starting, but he wasn't about to argue for a kiss and look like an inconsiderate ass.

"Yeah. I should go, so…"

All Joe could do was nod and watch Patrick head for the elevator, and then lock the door back up and settle back into the bed with his three year old beside him.

\---

When Patrick woke up, the next morning, he lay awake staring at the ceiling for a long time. He was still on taking-Ted-to-preschool schedule and he wasn't used to being awake this early with no reason to get up.

He'd already checked his phone, but there was nothing from Joe, just a coupon email from a store he couldn't remember signing up for. He was probably getting Teddy to preschool, at this time of day, anyway.

There was a weight in his belly, keeping him under the covers, unable to find the energy to climb out and pee, even though he needed to. Last night seemed like a surreal wish fulfillment dream. At one point, when he first got home, sitting in his kitchen and eating fistfuls of cereal from the box, he'd deleted his Tinder app in a rush of over-confidence, but he had the bleakest sense in the cold light of day that he'd behaved in over-eager and humiliating ways that had probably left Joe cringing.

He drafted a handful of texts before deleting them and starting again, and had just decided to settle on an unassuming _Good morning. xx_ when his phone vibrated in his hand.

"Why the fuck would you call me at 8.23am, Pete?"

"My nookie sense was tingling."

Patrick pulled his phone away from his ear to look at it, wondering if he was hallucinating. It definitely said Pete was calling. "How in the hell…? Wait, did you speak with Joe, already, today?"

Pete's laughter on the line was shocked and gleeful, and Patrick knew immediately that he'd given up the game himself.

"Holy shit. You actually did it? You and and Joe actually bumped nasties, finally?"

It was a difficult thing to deny, because they had, in fact, done that in the heat of the moment, but it obviously wasn't what Pete meant. "How is that your business, jerk?"

"Oh my God, you really did!"

"Actually, we didn't," Patrick snapped, rubbing his eyes wearily. "But mainly because Ted woke up."

Pete's humour waned into empathy. "Ah… yeah, they have a knack for fucking up your fucking, kids… So, what happened?"

"Oh, nothing, man, we just… We had a couple of beers, we got a little stupid, Teddy woke up and wanted to be in Joe's bed, so I came home."

"You came home? Why the fuck would you -?"

"Because I'm an actual, responsible adult, who doesn't want to confuse him!"

"Oh, wow, you're like, weirdly defensive about it. You are _super_ bummed out that you didn't get nailed."

"Shut up."

"I'm gonna let you go jerk off about it, but real quick, we're in Chicago Monday-Wednesday, which is why I called. Radio thing. We're tying it in with some other stuff while we're there."

"Pete, it's fucking _Saturday_! How are we supposed to get a sitter, that fast?"

"The kid has a mom, doesn't he? Anyway, I figured you'd be pleased to go home."

"She's away on location, I don't even know if she's back by then."

"Don't the grandparents usually take him?"

"Yeah, but you can't just assume -"

"Also, you just said 'we', by the way."

Patrick opened his mouth to snap at him, and then realised what he'd said. "I meant… collectively. As a band," he lied.

"Yeah, uh-huh, sure. Sure, man. So, anyway: you wanna tell your man what's going on, or…?"

"He's not -- Y'know what? I'll tell him, you go annoy Andy or something, I'll deal with Joe." He almost wished they still used house phones so he could slam down the receiver in annoyance.

Joe didn't text him until almost 11am and Patrick still hadn't figured out what to say, so he hadn't said anything, telling himself that Joe would be coming over to drop off Teddy, later.

_Hey, hope you made it home last night. Guess who was asleep before we even got back in the room. Is everything still good for today? x_

Patrick sat at the counter and read it again and again, trying to ascribe some kind of meaning to its brief but confusing parts. It seemed almost like he was laughing the whole thing off - not even acknowledging that Teddy had woken up twelve hours ago because Joe had shoved Patrick against the furniture while fumbling with his pants - but he'd also signed off with a kiss, which he usually only did when jerking around in Tinder games.

He sighed to himself, in the end, and tried to reply in the most neutral, breezy way he could manage.

_Sure, of course. What time?_

It was only after he clicked send that he realised he'd worried so much about the wording that he'd forgotten to consider adding a kiss at the end. He could hardly send it now, it'd seem like an afterthought. Which it sort of was, but not in a disinterested way. He was _extremely_ interested, he just felt like he was walking a tightrope over a crocodile pit laced with mines.

When Joe responded, _After preschool,_ he didn't add another kiss and Patrick didn't respond, not wanting to seem overeager to see him. Which was fucking absurd and he knew it, but the thing was, finding Joe attractive felt more like a symptom of something bigger. He knew he hadn't kissed Joe just because he wanted to have sex with him - although it was very definitely a factor - he'd wanted to because something had happened and things had changed for him, and he didn't know if it was the same for Joe. He hoped it was, but if it wasn't, then it wasn't something he wanted to push and he'd quietly lick his wounds in private.

He hadn't got as far as figuring out how they'd know if neither of them addressed it.

Joe showed up with Ted after one o'clock, holding him up to ring the doorbell instead of just walking in the side door like he usually would. He looked good - hair tamed with some kind of product and face freshly shaven, wearing the good plaid shirt that he wore on dates sometimes - and Patrick could feel himself blushing, hating his stupid, traitorous cheeks as they defied his attempt to seem cool about the situation.

Joe looked a little nervous himself, eyes wide and fingers tucking his hair behind his ear repeatedly.

"Hey."

"Hey," Patrick echoed, trying his hardest to act natural. "Are you coming in?"

"Kind of can't, right now, I'm late, so…"

"Oh. Okay, sure."

Joe kissed Teddy on the cheek and set him down in the doorway. "Hey, Ted, I'll pick you up later - go see if you can find some pillows to build a fort with Uncle Patrick."

Patrick watched him half-run, half-gallop out of the kitchen, smiling at his excited skip. "Is he okay, today?"

"Yeah. Like it never happened." Joe cleared his throat and leaned against the door frame for a second, before changing his mind. "What about you?"

"Me?"

"Yeah."

"Um, yeah. Yeah. I mean, I think so? Are you?"

He nodded slowly, as though he was still trying to decide. "Yep."

"Good," Patrick nodded back at him, trying to decipher the expression on Joe's face. There were a lot of times when he didn't really know what Joe was talking about, but not many when he didn't feel like he understood what he was saying.

"So, I'll pick him up after. I don't know what time, yet, but..."

"Right. Sure."

"Good."

"Yeah. Oh! Shit - Pete called this morning - I said I'd let you know, but… apparently we've been booked for some radio thing this week. Back home. We fly out Monday"

"In Chicago? You're fucking kidding me?!"

"I know - I told him it'd be a pain in the ass for you, with Ted and everything…"

Joe exhaled in a long _fuuuuuuu--_ and closed his eyes.

"If you can't make it, I mean, we can tell him 'no' and let him explain why not, or, I mean - Ted could come with us, maybe?"

"No," Joe sighed heavily, and shook his head, "Jan and Derek already said they'd take him for a couple days."

"Oh. Well, that's… good... then?"

"It's not what I had in mind, but I guess it works. I am gonna punch Pete in the junk, though…"

Patrick laughed a little and smiled up at him until Joe cleared his throat and tucked his hair behind his ear again, wanting to have a turn at doing the same and immediately mortified by his schoolgirlish urges. "So… um..."

"You're right, I need to go," Joe said, as if realising that time was actually passing as they stood there together.

It wasn't what Patrick was going to say, he was actually just filling time until his brain caught up with his awkward need to speak, but he nodded as if it had been.

"Right."

"Good. But, uh. Maybe we should catch up, basically, when I get back."

"Oh. Um, yeah, sure. Yeah, let's… do that."

"Okay. Then... Yeah, I'll see ya later."

Patrick was about to agree again, ramming them into a seemingly cyclical mess, when Joe seemed to take a deep breath and grasped his arm to hold him still while he leaned in and pressed a quick and awkward kiss to Patrick's lips before backing away and waving self-consciously as he put his sunglasses on and pulled out his keys.

Standing there, waving back at him and grinning like an idiot as he reversed the car out of the drive, Patrick felt the tension in his shoulders start to unravel.

\---

Doing interviews on his own was always kind of uncomfortable for Joe. He was so used to being the one interjecting off-beat nonsense into otherwise intelligent conversation that the prospect of sitting down and talking to somebody seriously about one subject for two hours felt actually kind of stressful. And today of all days it was kind of the last thing he wanted to do with his time.

 _Kind of freaking out x_ , he texted to Patrick, after sitting out in the lobby waiting to be greeted for twenty minutes, because even in the light of his vague uncertainty in regard to recent non-events, he was still the person who'd do the best job of reassuring him.

He frowned at the screen when Patrick's personal text notification - the same sample of him giggling from Young Volcanoes, which he'd copied in the studio and taunted him with for weeks, and then just kept because it made him smile - alerted him to a near-immediate reply.

_Me too. xx_

He scratched his ear absently. He even got as far as typing, _WTF for? You're not even doing this._ And then it dawned on him, and he couldn't help grinning, stupidly, a cool sweep of relief running through him. He deleted his first idiotic response and replaced it with, _Meant the interview. But that too I guess. x_

The giggle from his handset made the receptionist look up, puzzled. _Well that's embarrassing. Sorry xx_

_It's pretty much what I needed to hear actually x_

Patrick's reply came with a photo attached - a selfie; unlike him, because he usually hated every angle - sitting under a sheet suspended over dining chairs, smiling and flushed with Teddy on his lap, grinning his decidedly Trohman grin and waving a pudgy hand for the camera. All it said was, _Come home soon and hang out in our fort. Xx_

Joe smiled at the two of them, saving the photo as his home screen, and tapped back, _Looking forward to it. x_

The hours crawled by between waiting and having some girl colour in his face to make him look better for photos, and trying to explain his style and preferences and feeling like a chancer for having taught himself or learned things from guys in the scene, after the first couple of years of lessons. As validating as it was to be asked to do a piece for a specialist magazine, he couldn't wait to get in his car and head back.

"Hey, it's me," he said, when Patrick answered his call.

"Hey! Are you done?"

"Yeah," Joe told him, switching lanes to get out of the slow down approaching an exit, so he could be there that bit quicker. "I'm coming home right now, so, I'll be there in like twenty minutes."

"Cool," Patrick told him, with a smile in his voice, audible even over the handsfree speaker. "I'll fix dinner when you get here."

"You don't need to do that -"

"I want to," Patrick said. "See you soon."

By the time he arrived, there was already a pan on the stove and Teddy was sitting on his little stack of cushions at the breakfast table, colouring a new book that Patrick must have given him, because he definitely hadn't brought it with him.

Joe let himself in and went over to the table to see what he was working on, kissed him on top of the head, noticing that he was a little rosy in the face, and put on his best supportive parent voice to tell him how good the yellow and brown scribble on the page was.

"That's really neat, Ted. Well. 'Neat' might have been the wrong word, but…. Very good, Jackson Pollock."

He shared a smirk with Patrick across the room, where he'd turned, wooden spoon still in hand, to see what he was doing. Patrick's cheeks, seemingly permanently flushed, recently, were pinker even than usual.

"How was it?" he asked.

"Tedious, mainly. But it's done now, right?" He wound his way around the bench to where Patrick was standing and leaned against the counter next to him. "How was he? Did you guys have fun?"

"He was great, weren't you, Teddy?"

"Very good boy," Teddy confirmed, throwing down his yellow and picking up some kind of purple, not otherwise acknowledging them at all.

They both tried not to laugh at his seriousness.

"He's a little warm, though - like maybe he's got a little cold coming, or something."

"Uh-oh. Ted? Are you feeling good, little man?"

"Yes, I said I good!" Teddy huffed.

"Not _that kind_ of… Never mind, he gets grouchy when he's sick, so he probably is. I'll check him out when he's eating or something… How are you?"

Patrick chewed at his bottom lip, nodding contemplatively for a moment, before saying, "Yeah. I'm good. I'm pretty good." He cast a glance back at Teddy, and then ran a hand over Joe's forearm where it rested on the counter, lightly. Joe caught his hand before it could slide off his wrist.

"So, we should talk and stuff, but…" Joe jerked his head towards the table.

"Maybe after dinner?"

"After dinner I need to take him home for bathtime and mom-Facetime and bed. But… I mean, if you're free tomorrow...? We have to fly out for that radio thing Monday, so..."

"Yeah," Patrick nodded, redder than ever. "Yeah, that would be good."

"Perhaps we could, like… go out."

"Out?"

"Someplace like, grown up. Not for kids. Just like, us."

Patrick's lip disappeared back into his mouth as he hmmed knowingly.

"Like. Well, like a date."

"You still want me to score you?" Patrick teased, his eyes casting over to him mischievously as he focused on cooking.

"Actually, I wanted to score _with you_ , seeing as the fun sponge won't be there."

The splutter of laughter that Patrick gave as he elbowed him and gave a deliberate frown of disapproval was almost counterproductive in warning him off in front of the oblivious little person at the table. He goosed him, instead, and went to sit down and help Teddy with his colouring, covertly feeling his forehead for a fever and keeping one eye on Patrick across the kitchen with an optimistic swirling in his belly.

When they left, he strapped Teddy into his car seat and closed the door, tugging Patrick nearer by the pocket and catching him on the cheek, enjoying the coy scrunch of his nose as he tried to avoid them being seen.

"I'll see you in the morning, right?"

Patrick nodded, twitchily, chewing both his lips simultaneously and poking at his hip to make him get in the car.

It wasn't a long drive home, but Joe spent the whole thing smiling to himself and making Teddy laugh by singing along to Bob Marley's _Is This Love?_ on the radio. The day had had a rocky start, but everything seemed to be smoothing itself out and he was in a good mood - right up until around eleven o'clock when Teddy began wailing from his room again, and the puking started.

\---

  



	5. Technology - Part 5

_ I, I'm willing and able, _ _  
_ _ So I throw my cards on your table _

  
  
  
"I'm really sorry, dude," Joe said, and he sounded exhausted. "He's too sick for visiting and I didn't even sleep."

"Hey, it's fine - poor little Teddy Bear. Are you guys okay? I hope it wasn't my cooking? Do you need me to bring you anything?"

"No - thanks, though. His school's website said they've got a twenty-four hour bug going round, so it's probably that. I don't want you getting sick, too. I'm probably doomed, already, save yourself."

"I don't care, I -"

"We've got work, this week, man, we can't both get sick. But maybe we'll find time tomorrow night, or something, at the hotel?"

Patrick sighed and nodded his acquiescence. Joe was right, but he was disappointed, nonetheless. "Okay. Well, call me if you need anything, okay? And I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," Joe said with a sigh. "I gotta go, he's saying he feels sick again."

So, they still hadn't really addressed the finer points of what they were supposed to be doing by the time they sat down in their seats on the plane to Chicago. They always sat together, so nobody questioned that, but it still meant that for four hours they couldn't actually say anything that someone might read into. Especially if that person was in their damn band. 

They just sat next to each other, Joe watching movies until he fell asleep and Patrick trying to work out some of the production projects he'd neglected. And then they were through the airport and it was dinner time in the hotel's restaurant and Joe was starting to look a little glassy eyed by the time their mains arrived.

"I'm gonna have to bow out, people," he announced at around eight thirty, before their plates had even been cleared, rubbing his face with both hands, apparently trying not to look too pointedly at Patrick, but giving him an apologetic nod anyway.

"You gonna be okay, man?" Patrick asked him, starting to get up.

"What're you, his mom?" Pete smirked, pulling Patrick back into his seat lightly.

"Yeah - yeah, I'm okay, it's just been a long day on not a lot of sleep, basically." He caught Patrick's eye and held it for a second as he tucked in his seat and waved around the group. "See you in the morning, I guess."

"Night," Patrick nodded, lifting a hand, disappointed. He'd really kind of hoped that they'd at least talk, tonight. He resigned himself to a night alone in an unfamiliar bed and ordered the richest and most substantial-looking dessert he could find on the menu.

\---

The elevator doors were just closing when Pete caught up with Patrick and shoved both arms into the gap to open them back up.

"Close," he grinned, pressing the button for their floor, even though it was already lit.

Patrick nodded and yawned, leaning back against the rail.

"So. How how's it going?" Pete asked pointedly.

"What?" Patrick demanded, which immediately pinged Pete's shenanigans detector.

"You and Joe, man, c'mon - I'm not gonna be behind on the gossip."

"Oh," Patrick snorted, shaking his head and relaxing a little. "There's nothing to tell you that you don't already know, man… We probably have some stuff to work out. We didn't talk about it, yet, because - oh, I don't know - maybe someone made us fly out to Chicago with a bunch of people..."

Pete winced. "Didn't mean to cockblock you, man…"

Patrick adjusted his hat and cleared his throat. "Go for it, everyone else does."

Pete could practically smell the resentment. "I was gonna say that, like, it looked like maybe there was a little tension between you and Joe, tonight…"

Patrick scowled at him in the special way he seemed to save for trying to convince Pete to drop a subject. "What tension? There's no tension between me and Joe. Why would you think there was tension?"

"Like, sexual tension?"

"He's getting sick, like Ted has, and he slept the whole way. How can you think there's that kind of tension, right now?"

"Right, sure," Pete nodded knowingly, patting him on the back. "Well, I guess this is your room, right?"

Patrick squinted at the number on the door. "Seven one eight? No, I'm seven twenty-five. I'm pretty sure that's Joe -" He stopped himself and narrowed his eyes, shoving Pete almost into the opposite wall, as Pete cackled at him. "You're a fucking troll."

"I'm a troll who loves you, Pattycakes!" he told him, hurriedly swiping his way into his room before Patrick could assault him further. 

"Yeah, and I love you like a hole in the head," Patrick retorted, but he was smiling and red and Pete thought that maybe he'd have to try Joe for the news, instead, while he was sick and not thinking quickly enough to be evasive.

\---

After Pete had left him at his room, Patrick changed into his pyjamas and pulled out his phone.

_ Hope you're feeling okayish. Let me know if you need anything. Xx _

He got a text back almost immediately. Nothing more than a little green-hued, puking emoji and sad, little 'x'.

Joe's hypochondria and weak stomach were a running joke. He probably thought he was dying, by now.  _ Do you need me to come down and keep an eye on things? Xx _

_ Maybe x _

Without a second thought, Patrick grabbed his phone and his keycard and headed back down the hall. The room door was already on the latch when he got there, and the bathroom door closed tight, just one bedside lamp lighting the place. He closed and locked the main door, and then kicked off his shoes to climb onto the undisturbed bed further away from the bathroom, not wanting to seem presumptuous. The first bed had the covers kicked back, as though Joe had genuinely tried to sleep.

"Hey," he called, softly, "I'm here."

It was a few minutes before he heard the flush and water running, and a grey-faced Joe emerged from the bathroom in his boxers and t-shirt, already looking sweaty and exhausted. He held up a hand, weakly, climbed back into bed, facing him, and curled into a shivering ball. 

"Not feeling good, huh?" Patrick asked, shifting closer to the edge of the mattress and gazing at him sympathetically.

"You know how I have a whole - um - a whole actual fear that a shark is gonna appear from someplace and eat me?"

"Well, I thought it was just when you were in the sea, but sure…"

"Yeah, no, always," Joe clarified, "but basically that, only, I want it to happen so I can fucking die."

"Oh. That good, then," Patrick joked. "You want me to call room service, see if we can get you something?"

"I brought some. Tried it, threw it back up like the bug tossed back a grenade…"

"Nice. I'm glad to see your ability to, y'know, present a vivid picture hasn't left you, yet."

Joe grinned at him feebly and let his eyes fall closed. 

"What about another blanket? You seem cold."

"No… no, I'm okay. I just feel shitty about leaving Ted if he feels like this, poor little guy… I should call him..."

Sighing, Patrick climbed off his spare bed and perched himself next to Joe, rubbing his shoulder. "He'll be fine. Going to your grandparents' when you're sick is a kid's rite of passage. He's probably the most spoiled kid in the city, right now."

"Thanks," Joe said, quietly, opening his eyes enough to meet Patrick's for a moment. "They were supposed to - to…" He started to push himself into a seated position, suddenly. "Ugh. Um - one… one sec."

Patrick got up and poured him a glass of water for when he came back out of the bathroom, and then sat there, waiting, wondering what he'd been about to say. When he reappeared and Patrick was waiting, holding out a glass, he looked like he might actually cry with gratitude for a second.

"This wasn't… we were supposed to…" he muttered, taking a sip of his water with a grimace and handing it back, then crawling miserably onto the blankets. He shuffled himself closer and closer to Patrick, until he buried his face in his side and looped an arm across his lap. "I asked them to take him so we could…"

Patrick's stomach jumped a little at the implication, suddenly reminded of lips against his neck and hands fumbling for his zipper. "Oh."

"Not - I meant talk, dude. I asked them so we could talk…"

"We're talking, aren't we?"

"No, I mean - about stuff. About this stuff." He nodded his head a little, towards where his fingers were clinging to the side of Patrick's lounge pants. 

"It can wait. I'm not going anywhere, so…"

"I know, but…" 

Absently, Patrick stroked at Joe's hair. "It's taken twelve or thirteen years for us to get to a point where this even occurred to us, y'know? I mean - I assume it has - and I just -- Your phone is vibrating."

Joe sat up carefully and rubbed his eye, looking around for his handset. He picked it up and mumbled, "Shit…"

"What?"

"It's Chrissie's mom - she'll be calling with Ted, I don't want him to see me looking like crap, he'll get weirded out. He lost his shit the other day because Chris didn't have any make-up on and the lighting was bad."

"Okay, give it to me a second," Patrick said, holding out his hand. "I'll buy you some time."

Joe didn't question it, he handed over the phone and Patrick took a deep breath and plastered on a cheerful grin. "Hey!" he said, when he answered the call and a small, blond face peered into the camera from half out of shot, an older woman's face behind him - he recognised her from the one time he'd met her at Teddy's third birthday party. 

"Well, hello," she said, "it's Peter, right?"

"Uh - no, no, I'm Patrick," he told her, trying to ignore Joe's snorting from the other side of the bed, where he was hastily scratching his fingers through his hair and getting his glasses out of the case, presumably to hide the hollows under his eyes. "Joe's just going to be a moment. Hi, Teddy! How are you?"

"I sick," he said seriously, his little eyebrows pinching. "Where's Daddy?"

"He's gonna be right out. He's kind of sick, too, but he's excited to speak with you!"

"Daddy sick, too?" Teddy asked, suddenly intrigued. "Sick like Teddy?"

"Yeah, a lot like Teddy. He has a tummy ache, too."

Next to him, Joe was taking a hurried gulp of water, ready to join in the call.

"I had tummy ache!" he said excitedly, and Patrick grinned at how happy he was to be like Joe, even if that meant being violently ill. 

"But y'know what? I think Daddy's ready now! Do you wanna say hi?"

Teddy didn't even wait for him to hand over the phone. "HI DADDY!"

Climbing back on to the bed beside him, Joe didn't take the handset, he just tilted it a little in Patrick's hands, so he could join the frame. "Hello, little man, how's your tummy?"

"Is okay," he shrugged. "I sicked on Grammy's bed."

Patrick tried not to laugh.

"Ew, poor Grammy!" Joe said, his mouth turning down at the corners in distaste. Patrick didn't know if Ted had ever done that to Joe's bed, but he couldn't remember him discussing a need to burn the whole thing, so he doubted it. "Sorry, Jan…"

"Oh, it's fine. It was only a little. He can't help it."

"Daddy is sick, too?" Teddy asked, suddenly serious and touching at the screen.

"Just a little, but I'm okay - Uncle Patrick's taking care of me. He's a very good nurse."

The fleeting look of amusement on Jan's face suggested that she thought 'nurse' was a euphemism, which made Patrick wonder if she knew Joe wasn't straight - it had been a really long time since he'd regularly dated a guy, probably before he even met Chrissie.

"Is Patrick sick?" 

"Not yet, Ted," Patrick assured him. "I might be in a day or two, though. If you spend time with people who are sick, sometimes you can get sick, too."

"If he does get sick, you and me are gonna take care of him, though, is that cool?" Joe said, and his hand slid over to Patrick's thigh, to give it an affectionate squeeze. Patrick glanced back at him with a small smile and let go of one side of the phone to clasp his fingers.

On the screen, Teddy nodded, with the same casual brightness he used when he was asked if he wanted nuggets for dinner. "Yeah! We're must-get-ears."

"Aw, thanks, little buddy," Patrick said, grinning, and he could feel a long-absent wave of happiness and excitement rolling through him, heating his face and twisting his belly.

"So, Ted, listen - we're gonna be home in two sleeps, okay?"

"Okay."

"But we're gonna have to go, now, because it's bedtime here."

"Bedtime before Teddy?" he scoffed.

"We're in the future, right now, buddy," Joe explained, and his voice had started to sound a little tight. "So, you be good for Grammy and - and, uh… Love you, little dude."

"Love you too, Daddy!"

"Bye, Ted, bye Grammy Jan," he said, waving, and then launched himself off the bed, leaving Patrick to tell them both goodnight and finish the call for him. He didn't need to ask if he was okay, it was pretty clear that he wasn't.

He slept in Joe's room, that night, in the bed under the window, half-awake to listen and make sure he wasn't choking or in need of anything. And as he lay there, gazing at a sliver of artificial light from the world outside beaming through the gap in the black-out curtains, while Joe sighed and murmured uncomfortably in his sleep and Patrick absently wondered how Teddy was, he started to feel like maybe the whole conversation was moot.

\---

Joe's mind did a careful inventory almost before he was awake the next morning, trying to figure out if he was still ill. He felt chilly and damp under the covers, cold against the moisture he must have sweated out in the night, but his stomach wasn't churning anymore. There was a dull ache from the spasms of the day before, but he felt marginally better than he had.

He opened his eyes, grimacing at the harsh white light from between the curtains, and felt his stomach jump - but it wasn't the virus, this time. It was the sleeping figure in the bed opposite, huddled under the covers with his hand still resting over his phone on the sheets. He'd stayed. He had his own, uncontaminated room to go back to, but he'd stayed there with Joe.

When he'd woken up in Patrick's bed, three days ago, he'd looked like this - pale and pink and peaceful, like Joe never wanted to wake him and ruin it. But then he'd given a loud, grumbling grunt and turned over with the grace of a belligerent rhinoceros and Joe had had to get out of bed and leave the room so as not to wake him laughing. He'd snuck out to the guest bathroom for a shower before Teddy woke, and jerked off guiltily under the water, hoping it'd clear his mind. It hadn't, but it had reaffirmed his need to get out of this situation so they could deal with things properly.

This morning, he shoved back his covers and kicked them down to the foot of the bed, then rolled to the side to pick up his phone and go get ready. Their schedule for today and tomorrow was kind of rammed, right up until their flight in the early evening, he didn't want to have to try to rush through it all while his body ached miserably.

By the time he'd finished and wrapped himself in the complimentary bathrobe, Patrick was awake, sitting up against the pillows in bed, watching CNN with a bottle of iced tea from the minibar.

"Hey, how're you feeling?" he asked, looking up and watching him go over to his bag for clothes.

"Like, thirty-six percent better," Joe told him, not completely sure if he should take his stuff back into the bathroom to get dressed, or not. They'd seen each other get dressed a bunch of times, over the years - they'd lived together, they'd toured together, then been to the beach together - but stuff was a little different, now and they'd only gotten as far as shirts off, so far. It seemed such a ridiculous thing to worry about at their age, though, so he compromised and pulled on his underwear under his robe, turned away so that they didn't have to make eye contact, belatedly catching sight of Patrick watching covertly in the mirror over the dresser and hurriedly looking away when the robe fell open.

"Well, that's good. Do you feel like you'll be okay for the session, later?"

There wasn't much point pretending, anymore, so he shrugged off the robe and turned to address him as he pulled on his t-shirt. Smirking at the sidelong glances Patrick gave him in an apparent effort not to leer. How it was possible to look at him and not just think how he'd been throwing up all night, he wasn't sure, but he definitely didn't feel very sexy. "Not sure I have a choice, honestly, but I think I'll be fine. Ish. Provided I don't, like, actually try to eat anything. How about you? You're not feeling sick, yet?"

"Not really," Patrick shrugged. "Maybe I won't get it…"

Patrick did get it. In fact, he got it way worse than Joe or Teddy had. Joe could see him starting to look warmer and warmer all day, his skin clammy when they got close in passing, until they were heading back from a late dinner out at a little place in River North and he jumped out of the taxi when they pulled up opposite their hotel to puke in the gutter.

He'd been mortified. People had made repulsed noises as they passed by and he'd mumbled about Perez Hilton saying he was a drunk as Joe wrapped an arm around him and they all made their way across the street. Joe hadn't allowed any debate, he'd just taken him back up to his room and made him sleep in the freshly re-made bed he'd had the night before, closer to the bathroom in case he needed it. Then, he'd grabbed Patrick's keycard and collected his stuff from his own room, and settled in next to him with the TV on mute and spent an hour on his phone before falling asleep.

In the middle of the night, when he woke to a sweaty and shivering body climbing back into bed, he just sighed and curled around him, drowsily, gently shushing as Patrick settled. He didn't even mind the dampness against his skin.

\---

"Well, you look like hell," Andy said, watching Joe slide into the seat opposite with a toasted bagel and a couple of serving packets of Nutella, and a cup of coffee. "Where's the patient?"

"I left him in bed. If you think I look like hell, you should see him…"

"Damn. Is he gonna make the interview today?"

Joe shook his head and picked up his knife to attend to his breakfast. "Not if I have anything to do with it."

"Do you have anything to do with it?" Andy asked, raising his eyebrows at him as he skewered a piece of melon from his bowl.

"Ugh… I don't know, dude. Maybe. It kind of hasn't been the right time to deal with it. I mean, 'Hey,  _ bleurgh _ can we talk about  _ bleurgh _ how I think we'd make a  _ bleurgh _ kind of good couple  _ bleuuuurgh _ also, can I lick your thighs?' Honestly?"

"So, you're a leg man, huh?"

Joe just gave him a nonplussed look as he sipped his coffee. "I mean, sure, that's the takeaway from this conversation…"

Andy snorted a slight laugh and nodded to concede the point.

"Anyway, I already told Pete and Bob. Pete's probably up there now, trying to force feed him Pepto-Bismol. Personally, I feel like Pete should go do the thing and leave us out of it. If he's doing as crappily later as he is now, then there's no way he's gonna get let on that plane, anyway."

"Wow, yeah, I didn't really think of that…"

"Yeah, well," Joe sniffed, "sometimes I can actually be responsible and think ahead, contrary to popular belief."

"So, what'll you do? Go home to your little boy, or stick around here and play Florence Nightingale?"

Joe scowled and licked some chocolate spread from his thumb with a surliness that only he could achieve. "That's a shitty thing to ask."

"Well, I'm just saying - it's a tough decision, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah, but I've already had the bug, so… Anyway, I talked to Ted last night before we went out, he's way better and I don't think you get how sick Ric is, right now. I don't wanna leave him to take care of himself, even if he can do it in his own house. Ted doesn't  _ need _ me, right now and he loves spending time with Grammy Jan because she spoils him. Besides," he shrugged, as if it were an afterthought - although it plainly wasn't, "maybe sticking around'll give us a minute to talk without being interrupted, or something."

It would have been rude to laugh aloud at the truth finally wheedled out of him, so Andy just nodded and stuffed a strawberry in his mouth. "Sure."

"Because, like…" Joe tucked a stray curl behind his ear, focusing intently on pushing sesame seeds into a small pile at the side of his plate, "I already had him down to stay with Jan and Derek for a couple of days so we could try to talk, since he kind of ruined Wednesday night for us…"

There was a little ping of alert in Andy's mind as he realised there were lines to be read between and Joe was subliminally begging him to do so. "So… what was Wednesday?"

Joe quickly caught a little smile that tried to slip out and subdued it with a lifted shoulder. "Netflix and chill."

" _ Excuse me _ ?"

"Well. Not intentionally, and not exactly, like… successfully, because Ted's kind of a crappy wingman and decided the only other person sleeping in my bed that night was him, even though Ric kind of got there first. But… I dunno, dude. We've kind of established one thing, anyway..."

"Wow. Well… wow, Joe, that's kind of huge…"

"Yeah, that's definitely not what he said, but… I guess that's kind of my thinking, basically. Ted's been wanting to get to call Ric 'daddy', so… he can have a little patience while I assess the field, or some other sports-related metaphor..."

"So, wait a second," Andy said, knowing what the answer was, deep down, but feeling duty-bound as the Mom Friend to check the rationale here. "You're not just…? Not for Ted, right?"

"No," Joe snorted, finishing off his coffee and making to leave. "No, I'd definitely be getting to lick his thighs in this arrangement. If I'm lucky, maybe one day his old, grey grandpa balls…"

\---

The air was pleasantly cool as they waited outside the hotel for Patrick's dad to come get them and take them both back to his Chicago house because he didn't want to risk soiling some poor Uber driver's car. He'd tried to argue that Joe should go back home and be with Teddy, but Joe had just countered it by phoning home and asking Teddy's permission on Facetime, explaining that Uncle Patrick was too sick to fly. Teddy had taken the whole thing very seriously and showed them the plastic doctor's kit Grammy had gotten him, so he could help when they got there, but he was willing to wait and if he wasn't acutely dehydrated, Patrick might have wept.

By the time he'd had a bath and put on some pyjamas, there was homemade soup in a container in the kitchen, dropped off by Joe's dad on behalf of his mom when she heard they'd been ill and were in town. There was no hope of him eating anything, tonight, but it was sweet and thoughtful and infinitely better than the spongy bagels served on the plane journey back.

"It's good to be home," he mumbled, warming his hands on a cup of mint tea as they sat together on the couch, his ankles crossed in front of him and Joe's shin pressed to one knee as he reclined against the corner.

"Yeah," Joe nodded lazily, casting him a little smile before turning his eyes back to the TV. "I always feel like it's easier being sick here, than in LA. Like, the air's a little better, or something…"

"I always breathe a little easier when I'm home. I'm kind of looking forward to the day when I can just come back for good, y'know?"

He sensed a stillness beside him and looked over at Joe, who was looking back at him with his head pressed against the cushions, chewing on the corner of his mouth contemplatively. "I think I'm kind of stuck there for the next fifteen years."

"Well, I mean… that's okay, isn't it? Wanting to be where Ted is…"

"Yeah, but maybe he's not the only person I'll want to be with."

Patrick was still feeling a little woozy and sickly, so it took a few moments to really process what Joe was saying, and he must have spent them gazing at the TV, because when he looked back, Joe's mouth was tugged to the side in a despondent frown. Dopily, he reached out a hand and wrapped his fingers around Joe's and just smiled as he turned back to the TV and sipped his tea. "Maybe the person won't mind, as long as it makes you happy. Maybe they'll want to be where Ted needs to be, too."

When he glanced back, Joe was smiling back sleepily and within an hour, Patrick was sprawled along the cushions with his head resting on Joe's belly, and they were both quietly snoring under the blanket from the end of the couch.

At some point in the night, they must have gone to bed, because he woke up on Thursday morning feeling better - not wonderful, but no longer like he might suffer a prolapsed stomach from retching. He rolled over, fighting the blankets tangled around him, and there Joe was - face smushed into the pillow, shirtless with his hair spread around his head like Medusa's snakes - and in that moment it was the happiest sight he'd ever seen. Joe seemed to feel the movement of the mattress, though, because his face scrunched a little and he lifted his head, squinting from beneath loose strands.

"You're awake," he mumbled, one arm shifting out from under the pillow to rub a knuckle to Patrick's shoulder.

"Uh… not actually sure, yet..."

Joe just chuckled and shuffled until he could roll on to his back. "Feeling any better?"

"Well, I'm not gonna enter any hotdog eating contests today, but…"

"I've got a hotdog you can eat," Joe replied, and then laughed at himself guiltily. "Sorry. Please don't puke at me."

Patrick snickered back at him, feeling around under the covers for his hand and idly rubbing his knuckles with his fingertips. "I'll get to it eventually. I mean… the  _ first  _ thing. I'll try really hard not to do the other one, but I can make absolutely no promises, right now..."

"I'd be most obliged. But I dunno, dude, I feel like the universe is not into us getting that far. There's always something…"

"Okay, y'know what? Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe we need to just think things through, first, y'know? Make sure we've kind of got a handle on what exactly we're doing, before it gets kind of messy…"

"Messy?!"

"Emotionally."

"Oh. Good. Or, not  _ good _ , but…" He stopped abruptly and lifted the blanket to look down at his stomach as it gave a loud, whining rumble. "Easy, Chewie."

Laughing, Patrick rolled himself over to wrap an arm across his belly and kiss his shoulder. Maybe it was too late - maybe his feelings were already messy - because he wasn't sure he'd ever found anything as endearing as that moment, or as gratifying as Joe shifting and wrapping his own arm around him, so Patrick could rest his head on his chest.

"So. This is really cosy and all, but can we go get breakfast or something? I didn't really eat anything since breakfast yesterday, and I know you didn't. I can't kind of like, handle getting pre-dumped without getting some carbs in my system or something…"

\---

There was a small, fancy independent cafe off Green Bay Road, and they went there to eat because it was close to Joe's parents' place and there had been no time to run to the store last night - neither of them had been that keen to think about food and neither of them could be bothered to cook this morning. It wasn't really the kind of place they could have a serious conversation, though - there was too great a risk that they'd turn around to find one of Joe's mom's friends waiting to pinch his cheek. It wouldn't be the first time.

Instead, they ate brunch and took their coffees over to the park to sit on a bench away from the street, and he tried not to show that his heart was rattling in chest like a steel drum. Because, even though he knew, deep down, that this was positive - that Patrick was as hopeful as he was - he felt like he was on the edge of what he'd thought was a nice, sturdy cliff, and was now watching it begin to crumble under his Chelsea boots.

"So," Patrick said resolutely, tugging his coat around him and settling into the bench with leaves blowing under his tennis shoes. He took a sip of his chai and nodded. "Where do you wanna start?"

"Um…" Joe shrugged and fiddled the edge of the plastic lid on his cup. "I mean, we should probably start with the important stuff, so… Would you mind much if I touched your weiner?"

He was pleased and relieved and only mildly concerned when Patrick choked on his drink. "What, right now?!"

"Well, no. At a mutually convenient juncture would be best."

And Patrick was giggling, now, wiping his mouth on his palm and coughing intermittently. "Oh, well, at a mutually convenient juncture, sure. Not right now. It's too cold."

"Duly noted. Can I also -"

"Are you gonna do a list?"

"Would it be funny if I did?"

"Probably for like, the first three items, give or take."

"Oh, cool. In that case - two: can I touch your butt?"

Patrick snorted into his cup. "I was kind of banking on it."

"Right. Good."

"It's pretty much okay if you touch me anywhere, but especially the little bit like, right between my shoulders, y'know? Like -" he stretched awkwardly to try to point it out "- around there, somewhere. It's like where they put the key on wind-up mice, y'know? It just -" He gestured in a way that appeared to suggest it caused him to lead his troops into battle. Which may not actually have been far off what he was trying to say.

"Wait, if I touch it you're gonna arc off and disappear under the fridge?"

It was cute, the way Patrick sat back heavily against the bench and scowled at him. He didn't know if it made him want to hurry the conversation along, to get it over with, or keep mocking him gently to see him sulk some more.

"Sorry," he said, not sorry in the slightest, but grinning at him winningly.

"You're lucky I actually  _ want you  _ to touch me, at some point."

"I know," Joe said, but he was serious, now, because he did feel lucky. There were so many reasons he felt privileged to be in this position - having this conversation with Patrick at all - that he realised he should maybe do less of the joking and more of the telling him how he felt. He drummed two fingers on his cup and cleared his throat. "Listen, dude… before we get to that…"

The tone of his voice brought Patrick out of his petulant pout, and he sat up a little. "Yeah…"

"I mean, firstly… whatever happens, I've got to put Ted first, basically. I -"

"Yeah - of course, yeah, I wouldn't have it any other way, y'know? And I mean, the fact that you're honestly such a devoted parent, that's one of the reasons I feel like… I don't know. Like you're sort of amazing."

"'Amazing' seems a little strong given that it's sort of my fault he exists, but I'll accept the compliment."

"No, you are. Most of what you do, you do on your own, when you have him. I only got to be part of that for a couple of weeks, and I can already see how demanding it is - to spend every bit of downtime you get taking care of this incredible little person, basically by yourself, it's just… amazing, like I said."

"Pretty sure there are millions of women around the world doing this thing full time, and not spending half their lives out on the road dicking around with a bunch of friends, so I don't know if I can brag about it, but… He's pretty much the centre of the universe to me. And sure, I make the parenty lil' jokes about how life was way easier before I had him, but I just can't imagine life without him, and I'll never not want to have him with me as much as I can, basically…"

"No, of course. You're a two-for-one deal, I know that. And I've always loved the little guy, but spending time with you both, like I did the last few weeks, it's been… It really meant a lot to me, y'know? I  _ love _ Ted. I enjoy spending time with him as much as I do you." He gave a little chortle as he adjusted his glasses and added, "Maybe more."

"Even when he's melting popsicles on your hat and kicking you in the face?" Joe asked, smiling a little. He knew Patrick cared about Teddy - of course he did, Patrick loved kids - but hearing him talk like that, saying how much he loved spending time with them both, was such a weight off his mind.

"Even then," Patrick grinned back, pushing up his glasses again, and then looking away to study his cup as he continued. "I was honestly the happiest I've been in a long time, that day at the zoo. Or, on a lot of days, lately. Just having that, y'know - that motivation, to get out of bed and get dressed and do something fun, or responsible, with other people who wanted me to be part of it… It really meant a lot, is what I'm saying. When you said the ceiling was fixed and you were leaving - and I mean, I knew it had to come, but… You gave me, literally, a reason to get up in the morning and I just… I didn't want..."

For a moment, Patrick turned his head away as he cleared his throat, and Joe realised that he was actually getting a little choked up. He unfolded his arm and wrapped it around Patrick's shoulders, shuffling closer and pulling his head against his cheek, sighing. He didn't interrupt, though, because he didn't know if he'd struggle himself.

"It felt like, for a minute, you guys let me be part of your family, y'know - the three of us, together - and I really loved that. I loved being part of that."

"You  _ are  _ a part of that," Joe said, quietly, hearing his voice catch and nonchalantly looking across to the row of shops so that he didn't have to catch Patrick's eye. "That's kind of a given. You're part of our family regardless of anything else. It's pretty obvious we both want you to be, but the thing is - that can't change, basically. Like, whatever happens with us, I don't want Ted to lose out on the one slightly sane influence from my side of things. And if things might get weird, or complicated, then I don't wanna be to blame for him losing that."

Patrick took a sharp breath and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"I'm not saying I don't wanna risk it, or anything, I'm saying I need to be really sure if this happens and you get to be some kind of legitimate parental figure to him, but for whatever reason things go south for us, you won't stop being in his life."

"Of course I wouldn't!" He sounded genuinely offended that Joe would even suggest it.

"Do you promise?"

"Of course," Patrick insisted, propping his elbows on his knees and turning to look at him over his shoulder, almost like he felt a little faint. "I will swear to you on whatever you want me swear on - I'll never -"

"I'm not asking you to go that far, dude, I just…"

"No - no, I know," he sighed, sitting back and rubbing his forehead. "You're looking out for your little boy, and I understand that. I really, really do. But… I don't know. All I can do is promise you that I know how important this is, and how important he is, y'know? That nothing would upset me more than thinking maybe I didn't do the best for him."

"And I do totally believe that. I do. I guess I just needed to kind of like… hear it. Due diligence or something, basically."

He almost felt a little bad for even asking, as he reached out to take Patrick's hand and hold it; he wouldn't have entirely blamed him for tugging it away in a huff, but he didn't. Patrick's fingers, warm from his cup, just pressed themselves through Joe's own and he didn't let go.

"I know you love him, dude. It's like you self-appointed as his fairy godmother - I'd be a pretty crappy parent if I hadn't noticed that whole little pedestal you've got him on… I guess maybe the thing to do is, if we're gonna make something of this whole thing, then maybe we don't tell him, right now? We just, like, carry on like we have been and just see how things work out."

Patrick nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, we should…"

"Which I guess leaves us with the whole, 'What the fuck actually  _ is  _ going on here?' question, right?"

Patrick's nod turned into a small laugh. "It'd be good to figure that out, yeah."

"Right... So, I'm gonna be honest and say that, like, I don't know how we got here, honestly."

"Me either… I mean, obviously, there's a whole bunch of things that just got kind of stupid, but…"

"Yeah. Only, the thing is, we've obviously kind of fucked up our boundaries and everything, so I don't totally know what you're thinking, or like, what you want to do about this whole thing."

"Well, I guess it's more like what we both want, isn't it?"

"Oh, totally, but I know what I think I want, so… I'm sort of waiting on you."

" _ Oh _ , so I have to be the one to throw themselves under the bus and get all feelsy, and you just get to go, 'Yeah, no'?" Patrick demanded, sitting up indignantly, but there was some colour in his cheeks again and he was trying not to smile.

"You want me to go first? Sure, I'll go first, if you want," Joe shrugged, taking a steadying gulp of his coffee. He allowed himself a deep breath, and then another, before he started. "So, I'm not about to pretend that like, I've always been into you. Sorry. I haven't. I was no more attracted to you than I was my TV, basically. Like, sure, we spend a lot of time together and you make me laugh a lot, but I did not see you as any kind of… sexual being."

Patrick snorted and tried to cover it with a sip of his tea, but he gave him an apologetic grin and murmured, "As attractive as a TV is a good start, I guess…"

"What I mean is, you're one of my best friends and I kind of just put you in that box and left you there. And it was kind of fine. But when we started talking about dating and the whole test run thing, I guess it put a whole different slant on everything…"

"Me either, for what it's worth," Patrick shrugged, wiping at the lip of his lid. "I will say, I always objectively thought you were attractive, but it was more like, 'How does that guy not have everyone queuing up for a turn in his bunk?' more than, 'Maybe he'd be interested in -' quote-un-quote 'touching my weiner'."

"Yeah, but you're blind and have terrible opinions, so that's not even a factor."

"This is not how you convince me to touch your weiner long term... just, y'know, in case you were wondering…"

"I wasn't expecting it to be, actually, but I figured honesty was the best policy when I tell you that somehow, in the last couple of months, you sort of… turned my head, I guess." He smiled at the tiny, self-conscious giggle Patrick gave, watching his cheeks redden just a little. "And now, I guess, I kind of can't stop thinking about you. Not in a creepy way," he added, hurriedly. "Although… okay, maybe a slightly creepy, way, but… more like a… 'I wonder if I could convince him to put up with my dumb ass long-term' kind of way."

"Right," Patrick nodded, and he scratched under the back of his little woollen hat, twitchily. "Because - well, firstly,  _ yes _ , I could be convinced to do that. Long-term. That's very definitely a thing I would 'consider'. And here's the thing: I know that I have really, really asked a lot of you, in the past, but I have learned so much about handling myself better, y'know? Handling how we do this -" he gestured between them "- so much better. And the thing is, for me, I don't know if there's ever gonna be anyone I'm going to be able to see myself with, y'know, thirty or forty - or  _ fifty _ \- years from now…" He trailed off and Joe opened his mouth to speak, confused because Patrick had always been a big together-forever sort, but Patrick cut him off again. "I don't know if there's anyone I can imagine that with as easily as I could with you."

"Oh."

"And I get that that sounds, sort of…  _ crazy _ … and I'm not even saying, 'You need to commit to that or I'm out', because that's stupid. I'm just saying, I  _ know you _ , Joe. I've lived with you for years and I've considered you one of the biggest deals in my life for a long time - y'know, with the other two, obviously, but different… We went through a lot of stuff that they don't even understand, because it was you and me, y'know - those tours and the way we really, really screwed things up… But somehow you're still around. I know you gave up a whole bunch of stuff for me - I know you were finally getting to be the frontman, like you always kind of wanted, and that you put that aside for me, and that's just… I don't think anyone outside my mom and dad has ever given up so much for what I needed. Ever. And all I wanna do is give you some of that back… So. I guess I know we could do this. If we wanted. If it was what we both wanted, y'know?" He paused and caught a lungful of the air, before confirming, "And that's what I want. I want to try."

For a long, light-headed moment, they both just sat there, the confession hanging around them like a velvet curtain. Until, finally, Joe managed to gather himself enough to reply.

"Even as your friend, I'd do anything for you. Like, even way back -"

"I know. I know that, now, y'know? You've shown me that. And that's why I think - maybe this could be a good thing, even if sometimes we might need to work at it… Because I think we're already there. The only thing missing, really is… well."

"Touching your butt?" Joe asked, quirking an eyebrow at him, forcing himself to make the joke because otherwise he might not be able to swallow the frog in his throat.

Patrick spluttered wetly and rubbed his nose on the back of his wrist. "Touching my butt," he confirmed. "Although, I feel that specific thing can probably wait until this virus is definitely gone…"

"Ew…"

"What? I just mean you're not getting the best of me when I  _ feel _ like ass."

"Yeah, yeah…"

"Hey - listen, buddy, you can joke all you want, but I think you're being a pretty inconsiderate boyfriend, seeing how sick I've been…"

The shock of the statement - of Patrick actually using the 'B-word' to describe what this was - startled a laugh out of him. "Wow, okay. Are you gonna mark me down?"

"You bet your ass I am," Patrick told him, archly, taking another gulp of his drink and getting up to put the empty cup in the trash.

As he turned, the low fall sun caught his face, golden and warm and lighting up loose strands of his hair like fibre optics, and Joe looked up at him almost speechless at the idea that he hadn't done something about this sooner. Maybe that had always been his problem - he just wasn't paying attention at the right time, in the right places, but when the light caught things just right, it all started to make sense.

He stood up, tossing his cup and stuffing both of his hands in the pockets of his jacket, letting his weight press forward on the spot until there were only a couple of inches between them. "So, what do I need to do to be a ten-out-of-ten boyfriend?"

\---

Patrick found it a little hard to focus on the road as they headed to Joe's parents' place. He kept wanting to look over at Joe in the seat next to him, thinking  _ We're really doing this _ and giggling internally, because he really couldn't believe this was happening. Joe, meanwhile, was scrolling through SkyScanner, trying to find them a flight home for that night.

As they turned into the Trohmans' street, the phone in Joe's hand began to vibrate insistently and he frowned at it before answering. "Hey, Chris, how's it going? Everything okay?"

Patrick couldn't completely hear what the voice on the line was saying, but he could figure out that by 'Chris' he didn't mean 'Hey', he meant Ted's mom. There was an inexplicably nervous twist in his belly and he pulled over in the first spot he saw, just to be able to listen.

"Yeah - yeah, we've had the worst time, to be honest… You don't want details, trust me. We're just looking at flights for later so I can pick him up this evening. How's the project going?" He paused and both his mouth and eyes went a little wide, and he glanced across at Patrick. "Oh - God, yeah, totally. Totally, you take the chance while you can get it. He was asking a few days ago when you'd be home, so…"

The worry in Patrick's belly unravelled into optimism, because Joe was grinning and giving him the 'OK' hand signal and he kind of knew what he was about to say.

"Sure. Yeah, sure, no he's been a total superhero taking care of us… I will. Man, he's gonna be so excited to see you, poor little guy. Well, yeah,  _ obviously  _ Teddy, you big dope. You can see Patrick when we're back if you want, though… we've kind of got a bunch of stuff to catch you up on, so…" He paused and flipped a hand up in exasperation. "Well, thanks, Jean Grey, that was gonna be a surprise, but you had to go and ruin it, didn't you?" He laughed, lightly at first and then a loud, scandalised guffaw, casting Patrick a sidelong look and reaching out to squeeze his knee. "You're mean. I don't wanna play mommies and daddies with you anymore. Oh, well, fine - Teddy asked to call him 'Daddy' anyway, so I'll switch him in and book tickets to Hawaii for myself. Knock yourselves out."

Patrick grinned and raised a quizzical eyebrow at him, but Joe just smiled - relieved and cheerful and fond, in the crinkles of his eyes. "You keep me out of your family spats. I didn't get the new starter training, yet."

"But yeah… yeah, we're good and if you're gonna be home for the weekend, then, maybe we'll come back Sunday," he looked over at Patrick and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Patrick nodded vigorously, because he'd take any chance to be home for a little bit and to be home with Joe, right now - away from Pete's helpful intervention and the hot, dry air. He was very much open to that. "He's nodding. He thinks it means he's gonna get to see his girlfriend, Chicago, so… Oh, she's definitely the other woman. But anyway, hon, we're right outside my folks' place, about to visit. Yeah. Yeah, they're good and I will. Give my love to the little maniac when you get home. I'll Facetime him later."

After he pressed the little green button on his phone, he bit his lip, doing a little chair dance. "I love it when a plan comes together!" He leaned over and kissed Patrick on the cheek gleefully. "You wanna spend a weekend making out in your house?"

"Oh, I could probably be persuaded…" Patrick said, unbuckling his seatbelt and tugging his keys free. "Y'know, it's really sweet, how good you guys are with each other, I can't think of a single one of my exes who I could talk to without having some kind of horrible breakdown…"

"We kind of had to make ourselves… I mean, you were there, so… We did what we do for Ted, and now we're just, you know… bros. She's a cool girl, he's a cool little dude… it works out."

"Yeah," Patrick nodded, smiling with an odd pride at how mature and responsible his awkward, weird buddy had gotten over the last ten years. "Maybe we could all have dinner or something, soon? The four of us. If we're doing this, then I want to get to know her properly. And I guess she'll want to know who's around her kid a lot..."

Joe blinked at the phone in his hand and then glanced over, starting to smile back at him. "Okay, yeah.  _ Yeah _ , we should, for sure. I'd really like us to do that. But for what it's worth, she just literally said to me," he put on a girly California drawl, "'Least I know there'll be a grown up in the house with Patrick around…' So… I think you're probably good."

They didn't tell Joe's parents, not exactly. They just walked in and sat on the couch together and at some point Joe sneakily interlaced their pinkies on Patrick's lap and left his hand there until Cathie handed him some coffee and he had to let it go. She definitely noticed, but nobody mentioned it, not until they were leaving.

"It has been so wonderful to see you," Cathie said, cupping his face as she unleashed him from a crushing hug. She lowered her voice to a stage whisper and added, "We've always liked you the most."

Patrick chuckled and gave her another hug. "And I've always thought you guys were the coolest parents," he whispered back, winking at Richard, who just gave a small hum of laughter back at him and clapped him on the shoulder twice.

He hadn't quite seemed his usual, jovial self that afternoon, and Patrick had felt the smallest seed of doubt in his stomach - like maybe Richard wasn't sure that he liked the idea of him being with their son as more than a childhood friend - but the little sapling never had a chance to sprout any further. It was a stupid thing to worry about, and he saw that in his expression, should have known them both well enough for the fear to never have crossed his mind.

"You only think they're cool because they didn't raise you," Joe muttered.

"And  _ you _ !" Cathie let go of Patrick to squish the whole of Joe's face in one tiny hand. "Be good. I want you to be able to bring Patrick back here for Thanksgiving, alright? Don't throw this one away."

"Sure, Mom," Joe groaned, in the exact same tone he used when she asked if he'd finished his homework in the middle of band practise. "C'mon, Ric, before she asks if I've got enough underwear or something…"

Joe held his hand on their way down the path, and all the way back to Patrick's car, and when they turned back to wave, they were both stood there on the porch steps, Richard's arm holding her tight to his side as they waved. Patrick hoped they'd get to be like that, too, when they were older - still so happy and in love.

He tried not to delve too deeply into that thought, he could save it for when they were back in LA, and he didn't have a lot of time to, anyway - it was a busy day. Patrick's mom had taken one look at them on the porch when she opened the door and said, "Have you eaten?" ignoring their replies to tell them about the options for dinner and then forcing them to sit at the kitchen table and eat grilled cheese sandwiches as a 'snack' when they said they'd made plans (plans that involved pizza and TV, and as little else as they could get away with, but she didn't need to know that). Joe covertly took two large bites of one of Patrick's sandwiches, when she wasn't looking, just so she wouldn't give him a motherly lecture about keeping his strength up. 

It was possibly then, he thought in hindsight, that he knew he'd found the person he needed to spend the rest of his life with. Joe wasn't even supposed to eat cheese.

Their night went exactly as planned - although they factored in Cathie's soup with their pizza just because Patrick refused to see it go to waste after she'd been so thoughtful. They put on  _ The Fellowship of the Ring _ just so Joe could make crude jokes, and struggled to figure out how they were going to spoon on the couch for the first time. It was clumsy, but with the help of a couple of cushions they finally found something that worked - Patrick curled into a cushion while Joe rested his shoulder on one, one arm tucked underneath his head and the other hand interlaced with Patrick's. And while it started over his belly, by the time they'd reached Rivendell it had slipped down, out of his grip and into the waistband of his pyjama pants everso slightly.

That was how, even though they were tired and the movie was hardly porn, they tumbled into sloppy kisses and lazy, idle fumbles because neither of them had the energy for more. And it didn't matter that they gave up before it really went anywhere, or that when they went to bed, Patrick fell asleep while Joe was brushing his teeth, because Patrick knew and he was sure Joe did, too, that they had all the time they wanted to figure this out.


	6. Technology - Part 6

_ Cherish the thought  _ _  
_ _ Of always having you here by my side _

  
  
  
"Hey, sleepy head," Joe murmured when Patrick woke up the next morning, curling himself more tightly around him and stroking at his belly. "Did you sleep okay?"

Patrick just mumbled wordlessly, stretched and wriggled back tighter into his arms. It was warm under the covers, snug and comfortable and tempting to pull at Patrick's boxers to see if he was feeling less exhausted than he had been the night before. But while Patrick had been sleeping, Joe had been looking at the bright fall sky outside the curtains they'd forgotten to close, and he'd formulated a plan to get them out of the house for the day. They didn't need to leave until tomorrow, and they'd already seen their parents, which gave them a full day to go do the things Patrick missed so much, back in LA.

He'd made a mental list of all of them - or, all the ones he could think of - and plotted a schedule, but they were already running behind because he hadn't wanted to wake him. The more sleep he got, the more energy he'd have later, he reasoned, and he wanted him to have energy later. He really, really wanted him to have energy later, especially while Patrick wriggled and stirred against him in his sleep.

"What time is it?" Patrick croaked, when Joe lightly kissed his shoulder.

"Like ten fifteen. You wanna get up? We could go downtown and get some of those giant cinnamon rolls for breakfast, if you're feeling up for it. Maybe take a little walk around the zoo?"

The grin that spread across Patrick's face offered sleepy agreement as he uncurled his arms from Joe's grasp and stretched, but he nodded anyway, eager and content. It was contagious. Joe's smile back down at him was uncontainable, and when Patrick tapped at his lips with his index finger, a silent but clear command, he obliged readily, without complaining about his morning breath.

They ate their cinnamon rolls on a bench overlooking Diversey Harbour with its fancy little boats and Downtown in the distance, close enough to wander into the park zoo when they were done, but without sufficient hands to tear pieces off and hold their paper bags and drink coffee all at the same time. It wasn't a warm day, but it was mild enough in the heat of the sun that they weren't really cold. They used to do this years ago - on payday - walk along Roscoe to pick up pastries and then go and look at what other people could afford, jealously, before consoling themselves for their poorness by visiting the animals, because it was free and killed time.

"Can we get a boat?" Joe asked, absently, as he sucked the sugar glaze from his finger.

"Again, I'm gonna go with, 'what,  _ now _ ?'"

Joe snorted and elbowed him. "No, when we move back here."

Patrick cast him an amused glance. "In fifteen years?"

"Yeah, I want you to pre-authorise my midlife crisis."

"You mean you only wanna be fifty-percent responsible if our kids fall off the thing and drown…"

" _ Kids _ , huh?"

He gave a shrug, and muttered, "Well, y'know - however it turns out. I didn't really think I'd end up with any - step-kids or otherwise, so…"

Joe had caught the dejected crease in his nose as he said it, though, and there was no way he could stand for that kind of bullshit. Maybe it made him a little rash in his response, but it was nonetheless sincere.

"Well… not that I want to get ahead of ourselves, or whatever," he said, swallowing his bun awkwardly, "but if it's a mini-Patrick you want, I'm not gonna say it's off the table just because we already have Ted, dude..."

Patrick nodded, trailing his widened eyes around the harbour before putting a tentative smile on and looking over at him. "Okay." He pushed his glasses up his nose and grinned a little wider. "I mean, we should maybe look at getting our first date in before we, y'know - think about our first kid, but I appreciate the reassurance."

"I kind of thought we were on our first date, but okay."

"Are we?"

"I held your hand and bought you a fucking cinnamon roll."

"Oh," Patrick said, arching his eyebrows and pointedly cramming a piece into his mouth. "My bad."

"And later, I'm gonna buy some fancy-schmancy dinner in some nice little hipster restaurant, woo you with my charming conversation and make vaguely inappropriate statements about the things I'd like to do to you, in the taxi home."

"Well, I'll look forward to it, then," Patrick replied with a playful grimace, but he seemed happy enough later, while they sat together in a cosy corner of a Latin-Indian fusion restaurant, huddled on a bench on the same side of the table and shared little dishes of bean and chickpea curry and spiced spinach fritters. He watched Joe lick the cardamom custard creme out of a mini dessert donut with so much interest that Joe wasn't actually sure he'd need to apply any further moves, anyway, but he did all the same, for authenticity and comic effect. It was worth it to see him beaming as they walked down the lake, swinging their hands together under the mid-evening moonlight, while Joe unsuccessfully tried to convince him they should skip.

"You would if Teddy asked you," Joe complained, slowing down - he was getting a little out of breath hopping along anyway.

"Ted's three. You're thirty. I want him to think I'm cool and you to think I'm at least moderately sexually attractive."

"Fun is sexy!" he said, tugging his hand up and dragging his arm around so he had no choice but to twirl if he wanted to untangle himself.

"I am having fun. I'm having a lot of fun," Patrick replied with complete seriousness, letting go of his hand and slumping into his side to wrap an arm around him and make Joe take all of his weight. "This is a ten out of ten for sure. I don't know what you were worried about, before..."

"Guess you must've trained me well. But wait, dude, does this mean I can get a sneaky handjob under my jacket in the cab?"

Patrick rolled his eyes at him. "If I actually said yes you'd freak the fuck out, you fratboy wannabe."

Joe wagged his eyebrows back with a naughty grin and pretended to start shrugging off his jacket. "You wanna bet? It's not like I haven't done worse..."

"Dirty boy!" Patrick gasped, pulling away and shoving him with faux outrage so he almost stumbled onto the grass verge, but he moved closer again, smirking around his bottom lip when Joe opened his arms like a soccer player pretending they hadn't just earned a yellow card. "But you know what?" he said, close to Joe's ear, hands slipping inside his jacket to bunch up his shirt at the back. "If we wouldn't wind up on TMZ, I might actually do it."

\---

Patrick was giggling as he pushed Joe over the threshold and leaned back against the front door to close it. Joe hadn't stopped talking all the way home, whispered innuendo with his arm hooked around his neck and his lips to Patrick's ear in the taxi, and now Patrick was breathless and eager to take him up on his speculative suggestions, but determined to make him stop prattling first.

Joe was kicking off his boots, one hand propped against the wall as he toed at them, giving a powerfully descriptive step-by-step of how he intended to relieve him of his clothes, but in the same tone he might be expected to use for a rundown on how to prepare and stuff a turkey for roasting, and Patrick was done. He watched him bend, the back of his jeans riding down as he hoiked up an ankle to tug off a stubborn boot, sucking on his bottom lip to keep himself from panting, and the next thing he knew, he wasn't leaning against the door anymore.

Patrick's hand had grasped at the hip of Joe's jeans with a turn and a push that had left him a little winded, and he'd pressed up close to him, lip firmly between his teeth, trying to decide if he wanted to kiss him or gag him. But there was no Pete, no drunken women, no frightened preschoolers and no stomach bug to get in the way, this time, and Patrick was done with fanciful promises.

" _ Oh _ ," Joe grinned, as he stumbled back against the coats on the rack beside the door, and there was a spark in his eyes as he looked down at Patrick, lashes lowered. "Hey."

"Stop talking," Patrick told him, shifting his footing so he could stand without leaning his weight on his hands, and made a deliberate move for the button on Joe's jeans while trying not to break eye contact. He'd never really expected that Joe actually would shut up, but he seemed stunned to thrilled silence, mouth a little open and curled up at the corners, hands not sure where to settle until it occurred to him that maybe he could make a start on Patrick's clothes.

He hadn't really gotten any further than pushing at his jacket, to slide it off his shoulders, when Patrick looked at his moist, delicately shaped lips and reached a conclusion. He let go of Joe's zipper and cupped his face quickly, making it impossible for his jacket to slink off his arms, and kissed him, open mouthed and firm. Joe seemed almost to start hyperventilating, exhaling sharply with every movement, until he was pushing back, leaning them both away from the wall, stepping on his own discarded shoe and almost tripping if not for the fact that he had Patrick to hold on to.

When Patrick pulled away a little to catch his breath, Joe followed, pressing their foreheads together for a moment and then kissing at the corner of his lips, and then his jaw, and his throat and Patrick had to balance on one leg to try to shake off a sneaker he'd laced too tightly.

"We should - let's - not here," he rasped, dragging himself away and letting his jacket drop to the floor, pushing Joe again, towards the stairs this time, where he stumbled in front of him on the first step, giggling even though it sounded like he'd thumped his shin on the edge.

"Jeans are fucking falling - good idea, sex machine," he muttered, redoing the button with one hand while he half scrambled, half ran up to the first floor. 

And Patrick was laughing - almost uncontrollably with the nerves and the excitement and the ridiculousness of the fact that he really was about to do this  _ with Joe _ . Joe who'd responded to their first interaction with,  _ 'What're you, the fucking taste police?' _ , and gave a running commentary on other people's driving as they criss-crossed the US in a shitty, overheating van for their first four years, and who once punched him (poorly) in the mouth because he said that Morrissey seemed like a jerk. And that old, ill-advised  _ Viva Hate _ tattoo was staring up at him from Patrick's own bed, where Joe had dropped himself and belatedly decided he should wriggle out of his jeans while Patrick was crawling on top of him. Because that seemed so like Joe - the best ideas and the reasonable sense of logic were all in there, they just materialised a few beats too late, like the synapses routinely missed their exit and had to go round again to make a connection.

When he dragged his eyes off Joe's bare chest and his colourfully rendered arms, up to his eyes, though, Joe was gazing up at him, pupils wide and eyelids heavy and he gave a little, disbelieving choke of a laugh. He looked happy, Patrick realised, like maybe he was living out a dream, and he paused to smile down at him and stroke his cheek lightly, studying his face.

"You're really… you're really sort of beautiful, you know that, right?" he mumbled, ducking down to peck him softly on the lips, and Joe's responding chuckle made his stomach tense and his hips jerk, which quickly inspired Patrick to pull off his shirt and drop it behind him.

"Yeah, you'll do, too, I guess," Joe retorted, leaning up to chase another kiss out of him while he tried to undo the slightly strained button at Patrick's waist. "Don't just sit there, man, you've got to stop wearing tight pants."

He couldn't help giggling as he sat up over Joe's thighs and lifted himself to kneel, so he could straighten up and undo the stubborn fastening. "Y'know what?" he said, breathing in and unhooking, and then realising what a relief it was to undo his zipper, too. "I'm starting to think you've been right about these things the whole time…"

Patrick blinked and opened his eyes abruptly at the feeling of an elbow nudging his arm, and looked around him at the cabin. Joe was next to him, lightly pink and trying to suppress a laugh as a steward stood beside him with a trolley. "You want a drink, dude?"

The sleepy memory of last night fogged and faded as he sat himself up, awkwardly, realising why Joe was so amused and the steward was keeping professionally focused on his beverages. "Um… yeah? Can I get a Sprite or something?"

Joe could only keep his laughter in for so long, and Patrick glowered at him, embarrassed as he snickered himself to tears as the trolley rolled further up the aisle.

"Well, no prizes for guessing what you were dreaming about," he teased, rubbing Patrick's thigh affectionately.

"What're you trying to do?" Patrick hissed at him. "Make it worse?"

"Sorry," Joe said, hurriedly. "Sorry, it's not at all funny." He tried to hide further giggles in his sleeve, weakly. "But I'm glad I made an impression."

"If you keep laughing, it's gonna be the first and last."

"It's okay," he offered, "give it a few months and I guess we'll be in each other's space all the time anyway. I'll get it right out of your system…"

The reminder softened his annoyance, and he smiled in spite of himself. "Yeah. Yeah, we will…"

He took the palm offered to him and slipped his fingers through Joe's, squeezing it tight. Six months, they'd agreed. They didn't really have a tour coming up in the immediate future, just some odd shows and marketing and mini trips away, and in six months time, they'd see what they wanted to do - try living at Patrick's together, or try someplace new, depending on how confident they felt, and the market they were in, by then, and how Teddy might settle in to a new house… along with a whole bunch of logistical considerations.

He didn't really care, himself. He was already confident that what he wanted was Joe and Teddy to move in with him now. Immediately. Like they'd never left. But it would be completely imprudent and he knew they needed to pretend for everyone else's benefit that what they were doing was carefully weighed up and thought through and not the product of a conversation between his dick and his heart without his head getting the memo.

When they got back to Joe's, not needing to pick Teddy up until the evening, they made use of the time by climbing into bed for a nap to make up for what they'd missed the night before, but still neither of them got any sleep.

\---

It was tough, letting Patrick leave, that night. He'd stuck around all afternoon and come with him to Chrissie's to pick up Teddy, who'd been more excited to see him than he was Joe. He'd grasped the lapels of Patrick's denim jacket as he heaved him up on to his hip, and told him, wide eyed, about all the things he'd done with Chris and Grammy Jan and Grampa 'Dek' and could he show him his new doctor's kit when they got home just to make sure Patrick wasn't sick anymore.

The rapt adoration on Patrick's face as he promised to be a good patient made Chrissie smirk at Joe as she leaned against the door frame. She texted him later, after he and Ted had waved at Patrick from the window as he climbed into his taxi home,  _ Teddy wouldnt stop talking about 'Ukkle Pattick' all weekend. _

Joe grinned at his phone, stretching out along the sofa while he responded.  _ Had to physically take a bunch of itty bitty Cubs merch out of his little magpie hands yesterday. I let him keep a Clark bear. Ted's in bed with it. _

_ Hes taking our jobs Joe. _

He was worried for a minute, thinking that maybe they needed to bring forward a parenting team meeting.  _ If it bothers you i can get him to cool his jets. Hes just a kid person. _

_ No lets keep him hes like a free nanny but I dont even mind that you sleep with him. _

Joe repeated that to him - or parts of it - the next day, while Teddy was at preschool, laying in Patrick's bed with the light streaming in. "So, what do you think - you up for some naughty nanny roleplay, or what?"

Patrick just giggled, head propped half on and half under his armpit, his whole face squished into either a cringe or an attempt to suppress the appeal of the suggestion.

"Maybe I need to break you in more gently, huh? Little bit of toy action - bring out the old double dong? Silk ropes, all that kind of stuff?"

The laughter was uncontrollable, at that point. Patrick had curled himself into a foetal position, clutching his wrist and burying his face in the crook of Joe's elbow and Joe grinned and wrapped all his available limbs around him.

"Maybe we can get you on one of those giant alien dick things that look like a cybergoth butternut squash? French maid's outfit or something? Or are you more of a whips and chains kind of guy?"

"I don't know!" Patrick blurted, in the end. "I've never really felt the need to get too… inventive."

"Ohhhh," Joe mused, pausing to mouth at the top of his bare shoulder. "That probably explains why nobody nailed you down until now… But that's okay, I've seen a few weird videos on Brazzers, I've got you. I'm always down for a little trial and pleasure." He figured it might be too soon to tell him he was a little serious about being tied to the bed and ridden like a space hopper.

Later that night, after they'd fed Teddy at Patrick's and Joe had taken him home, alone, to tuck him into bed and let Patrick get on with a little work, he got a message on WhatsApp. A screenshot of a website. The grin it raised felt like it spread from ear to ear.

****_Patrick Stump_  
_ Doing some market research.  
_ _ Categorising this under things I thought were for my grandma to make the criss-cross pastry for pies. _

**_Joe Trohman  
_ ** _ Super impressed you went straight to the bdsm stuff. _

****_Patrick Stump_  
__ Oh ive been looking all night. Got nothing done so far.  
_ Well.  
_ __ Maybe one thing but I made the msitake of starting with videos.

**_Joe Trohman  
_ ** _ Can't believe you went there without me you jerk _

****_Patrick Stump_  
__ Sorry I was bored & curious  
_ Upshot is we need to do some shopping…  
_ __ I had no idea I was so behind on the technology

**_Joe Trohman  
_ ** _ Did you just say BEHIND - ON - THE TECHNOLOGY??? _

**_Patrick Stump  
_ ** _ Yes I did. Thank you for noticing. _

By the time he fell asleep, that night, he was in his bedroom with his laptop and his phone, they'd ordered the kind of delivery that would probably result in a call from the fraud team at his credit card company - not least because they'd sent it to Patrick's house where they were less likely to find Ted rooting through the wrong toy box. It did make him wonder if, occasionally, he let his financial liquidity get the better of his judgement, but if anything had solidified his belief that they were good for each other, it was the moment Patrick had given a crackly cackle down the phone line and said, "Did you know you can buy  _ actual _ space hopper dildos?"

\---

"You seem happy," Andy said, when he was back down in LA for meetings, the next week. He'd heard already, of course - Pete thought he'd gotten the scoop, but Andy'd been in receipt of a text containing only an eggplant and a firework two Saturday nights ago, so he figured he might not have. He hadn't argued the point, though, it was a matter of pride for Pete to be ahead of the curve. Any curve.

Joe smiled bashfully around his straw and adjusted his sunglasses, scuffing at the sand that had spilled onto the wooden boardwalk under their bench. "I'm pretty damn good," he confirmed, looking up and out to where Patrick and Ted were playing soccer with Bronx and Pete on the beach. "Kind of feels like the first time I accidentally put Quadrophenia on loop and had that whole realisation that the ending is at the start. Like, ' _ Oh crap, now this makes fucking sense!' _ , basically."

"Well, I'm pleased for you, dude. I'm pleased for you both. I was genuinely rooting for you to work it out."

"And your super match-making skills were unnecessary but noted, thanks."

Andy grinned at him, but Joe was too busy watching the four of them running and falling over themselves in the sand.

"So, what next?" he asked, after a minute, drumming his fingers on his iced tea cup. "Are you going to open up about it, or what?"

Joe's face contorted into a grimace of horror. "Fuck, no. No way, dude, I'd have to murder a bunch of kids who don't get that the dumbass 'Not bad Joe' in response to stuff like that is super-turdery. 'So, we want to share with you this awesome, meaningful news we have, about how we realised we actually want to be together and -' 'Not bad, Joe!' 'OH-EM-GEE WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?' - twelve exclamation marks… Oh - and 'GO TO BED JOE!' The fucking horror of it, man…"

It was a fair enough point. They'd all tried to be varying degrees of open, over the years and learned varying degrees of shitty lessons about where to put their boundaries.

"I can't honestly say I blame you, I just think you ought to be ready for it to go nuclear if you don't say anything first."

"I'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Probably consider jumping off in the middle, because I mean, it's a deadman's walk either way, right? Once it's out, it's assholes as far as the eye can see. And not in a good way." He took another slurp of his lemonade and scratched along the plastic rim of his lid. "Ultimately, as long as I've got my little dude and my littler dude, I can probably deal with any of it. I'm just gonna be super pissed off at a lot of people."

"You're always super pissed off at a lot of people."

"Exactly."

And later on, when they dragged the boys (and Ted and Bronx) off the beach, he and Pete watched the two of them swinging Teddy back and forth between them as they headed for ice cream and shade from the sun. But he wasn't really looking at his friends anymore. He was looking at a neat little unit, a mutual appreciation society, whose balsa wood parts had finally locked into place.

\---

It was the afternoon after a Kimmel appearance - a live gig in the city - shortly after they'd picked up Ted from preschool and were playing catch in the garden, that Joe received the call. Patrick watched him tug his phone from his pocket, eyebrows jerking in surprise.

"Old Man Trohman! Hey…" He listened a moment, and blinked. "I'm at Ric's with the little dude, what's up?" There was another pause, and his mouth opened and closed soundlessly, until he turned and looked at Patrick, nodding. "Um, I guess, Dad… Ric - I need to take this inside a sec…"

Patrick nodded and gave Teddy his biggest cheer as he caught the beach ball in his little pink hands. He was distracted, though. He couldn't think of any times that Joe had left a room to take a phone call from his parents, except when the bus had been crowded and noisy and it was impossible to hear. It stirred the acid in his stomach, but he didn't want Ted to notice, so he stayed cheerful as the minutes ticked by, until he could sense from the quiet that something was up.

"Hey, Ted, can you be a good boy and play for a minute while I go to the bathroom?" he asked. The garden was safe, there was nowhere for him to go, he could hang out here for a minute or two while Patrick checked on Joe.

Teddy nodded and dropped the ball onto the grass. "Yeah. I be good boy." 

"Thanks, little guy," Patrick said, bending down to kiss him on top of the head and heading for the sliding doors.

Joe wasn't in the living room, or the kitchen, and when Patrick made his way down the hall he could sense the weight of the atmosphere in the bedroom. There were no voices, though, so he pushed the door open a crack and peered in.

"Babe? You okay?" he started, seeing him sitting on his side of the bed, his hair over his face as he fiddled with his phone and everything in his posture was a ready answer.

Still Joe shook his head and didn't move, so Patrick pushed the door almost shut and made his way to perch on the mattress beside him, one hand instinctively sliding to rub his back. He could see it now, the twitching dimple under his bottom lip, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, the last vestiges of resistance before the dam gave out. He didn't ask again, he just pressed his lips tenderly to Joe's t-shirt, letting him know he was there.

"My mom -" Joe started, when he'd seemingly pulled together the composure, but it broke almost immediately and all Patrick could do was wait with his arms around him and his fingers rubbing the close-cropped hair at the back of his neck until he pulled away, swiping at his eyes with his fingertips.

It was hard to know what to do, at first. He went to bring Teddy in from the garden and sat him in front of the TV with Dora, while they tucked themselves in the kitchen to talk quietly within eyeshot. Joe hadn't wanted Teddy to see him red-eyed; not because he shouldn't cry, but because he wasn't ready to tell him why daddy was sad.

"Do you want to go home?"

"No, I - I mean, I do want to, but I don't know if what they need is a kid around, right now, and -"

"I'll take care of him," Patrick told him, immediately. "Here, or there, I don't mind. I'll take him."

"You don't -"

"Joe, this is happening, and you need to think about what you can do for you mom, and for your dad, right now, y'know? Even just a couple of nights, just to be there… to see her before… before it makes her really ill..." 

He couldn't bring himself to say 'chemotherapy' and he wasn't really sure Joe could have handled the reality of it, just then, so he didn't but it hung between them bleakly until Joe leaned in and rested his forehead on Patrick's shoulder, silently.

He flew out that same evening, leaving Teddy confused and sobbing into Patrick's shoulder because he didn't want him to go; and later that night, Patrick sobbed, too, quietly in the bedroom, after Teddy was asleep, unable to stop thinking of Richard or how he'd always wanted to have a relationship like theirs. Of how young they both seemed, now, for this to be happening so soon.

\---

Pete was used to Patrick being up at all hours of the night - he was nearly nocturnal, it was a well-known fact. He'd gotten out of the habit, though - of staying up and of calling Pete - since Joe had been a whole thing in his life. So when he answered he was ready with a little dig, but he choked it back at the tone of Patrick's voice on the line.

"Hey, Pete it's me…" His voice wavered. It sounded strained and like he had a head cold.

"Rickster? What's up, man, are you okay?"

He was silent for a moment, just a rustling on the line, and Pete was about to ask if he was still there, imagining Ghostface from Scream standing behind him, about to take the handset and ask if he liked scary movies.

"Um… no," he said, finally, and Pete's heart skipped two clear beats. "Well, I mean, I'm fine personally, it's just… I needed to talk to somebody. Just to hear a friendly voice, I guess."

"Where's Joe?" Pete asked immediately, and there was bile rising up his throat, because this wasn't like Patrick. Patrick didn't phone with problems like this, Patrick drank alone and refused to deal with it.

"Joe's gone back to Chicago for a little bit, because, um…" he cleared his throat and Pete expected the worst - expected a calamity that would mean the album they'd already recorded and were booking appearances for would never be released; but that wasn't what came out of Patrick's mouth. "Joe had some bad news, today."

It was hard to hear; hard to think of Joe flying home alone to try to be a parent to his own parents, and it stayed with him even after Patrick got off the phone, as the first glimmer of light began to break the horizon outside. He sat out on the living room balcony, braced against the pre-dawn chill for something else to feel than the second-hand sadness Patrick had poured out to him. He'd been afraid, when they spoke - unsure that he'd have the tools to be the supportive partner that Joe would need, that he'd fail to be there in the right way, at the right times. And for once, Pete didn't feel like he had the answers.

So, he stayed up, waiting for Bob's hard-fast deadline that he wasn't to be called before 8am unless an actual member of the band had died. And although, in a way, it felt as big at that - like their foundations were being rattled as the person who'd supported them the most as kids, trusted them and allowed them to practice in her attic when none of the other parents could bear the noise, stood on a knife's edge - he knew it wasn't reasonable to call at 5.57am. But when Bob answered, he told him; not everything, but enough. No more bookings. They'd do what they had to, but no more were to be added, not for now. They'd find their ways around it, the rest of them could make spot appearances if they needed to, but Joe needed time and this was what he could do as a surrogate big brother, and he didn't want to let him down.

\---

It brought them closer, all in all - Joe, Sam and their dad. They rallied, with a determination he was sure no Trohman had ever entertained, never mind possessed, taking turns to be there as much as they could, visiting for weekends or nights or as long as they could manage. Until Thanksgiving came, and for the first time, Joe brought Patrick and Teddy with him.

He'd wanted to shelter them both from it, in a way; preserve Teddy's memories of her - knowing that he was too young and they wouldn't last, anyway. But when they left her in the living room with him, so he could show her his books while the four useless males in the house took telephone instructions from Patrick's mom and Sam's mother-in-law on how to prepare the more complicated dishes, he hoped this was what he'd remember. Her gentleness and patience and her calming influence in the face of chaos. It was what he'd remember, he told himself. That and her sense of humour, which she'd given to Sam while Joe inherited their dad's, dry and incisive and never cruel.

They slept in the big guest room, that night, in a downsized house that Joe hadn't grown up in. He and Patrick on each edge of the bed and Teddy in the middle, starfishing them both to the periphery. But before they got in, they watched him sleep in the lamp light, Joe on Patrick's knee in the easy chair in the corner, one of her woven blankets keeping his little body warm. And he was thankful - for all the fear and the sadness, he was thankful that he had this and she had them, for however long it was.

"Thank you for being here," he said quietly, into Patrick's hair, stroking at his cheek with the thumb on the arm looped around him. "I know you could've been with your family or something, and I…"

"I am with my family," Patrick replied, without missing a beat. "Even before this happened," he said, squeezing his middle lightly, "your folks were always like extended family to me, y'know? Especially when we were kids. I wouldn't want to not be here, this year, if I was welcome. Besides, how would you have coped without my expert macaroni stirring skills, anyway?"

Joe snorted a reluctant laugh and kissed his forehead, leaving his lips pressed gently against the skin as the words welled up in his chest. He closed his eyes, swallowing. "I wouldn't have coped, period. I'd have melted down faster than that plastic container Sam put on the hob like a dumbass."

Patrick's chuckle was soothing and fond and it simmered the words to the top like the gravy they'd boiled all over the stove, trying to get everything ready at the right time.

"I fell in love with you today, I think."

He could feel the sharp intake of breath in the chest pressed against his ribs, and then the stillness, and he wasn't worried about this. He knew he didn't need to be. 

"Yeah?" Patrick asked, in a small voice under the weight of forced normality. He rubbed at Joe's thigh with steady focus.

"When you were washing up with Ted, and my brother was drying, and Dad was putting stuff away while Mom gave him instructions about where to put her best crockery… I had another dish for you and you turned around to take it and you just, like, smiled. And even though everything has been kind of shitty, lately, I looked at you and it was okay. Just for a second. Because you were there. And I guess I've known that I was like, on that road for a little bit, but… I guess I'm actually already here."

Patrick's fingers left Joe's pyjama pants and picked up his hand, instead, bringing it to his lips to kiss it softly before he looked up. "I love you, too," he said. And then, because it was Patrick and he couldn't stop there, he gazed down at their hands and added, "And I'm glad, y'know? That you told me. Because I've been googling when it's okay to say stuff like that without looking like I'm gonna end up keeping you in my basement, and I didn't know if I could keep it in as long as they said I needed to…"

And Joe laughed in spite of everything, a choked splutter at the earnestness of it, so familiar and typical of him. He would have kissed him, if there hadn't been a little voice from the bed, grumbling, "Daddy I sleeping!" and he'd hopped to his feet in case he sat up. They'd told him they were having sleepovers, and he'd accepted it, but they hadn't let him see them like this, yet.

Without discussing it, they both climbed into the bed on either side of him, quiet and peaceful in the suburban darkness. Just before he fell asleep, Joe felt Patrick's hand slide into his, under the pillow, and it gave him the last little push from the shore into the most restful sleep he'd had in weeks.

\---

December felt busy, even though they really only played a three day festival in Florida and a handful of shows in California. There was one lucky turn in Milwaukee, for Andy, a Christmas show that brought them all into town. It was hard to feel festive, though, and smile for the cameras, having spent the afternoon sitting with Joe in the green room, watching him fiddle absently with strands of his hair as he stared at the wall for minutes at a time.

"She's… not good," Patrick had told him, quietly and pensively, as he looked along their buffet table. "It's really…" He sniffed and nodded slowly before rushing out, "There's nothing more they can do, is the thing. So."

Andy had turned, subtly as he could, to look at Joe and the pressed crease in his brow, "Is he coping?" But when he looked back, Patrick's plate was abandoned, empty on the tressel table, and the door was drifting shut on its closer. Across the room, Pete met his eye and tugged his mouth into a despondent, downturned smile of solidarity. He left, too, soon after - following Patrick out into the corridor, dutifully.

Andy sat beside Joe on the couch, for a while. Not talking or eating, just being there, waiting to be needed like a spare blanket in the back of a closet.

"We used to joke," Joe started, suddenly, like a memory had abruptly returned to him, "that my Dad would go first, of a heart attack, probably - because of the irony, you know? Because it's what he does, basically, as a cardiologist."

Andy just nodded.

"But it turned out, it got her in the thing that she did most. Isn't that fucking… ironically fucked up?"

"Yeah," he said, quietly, because it was. And sometimes life did that to people. Often times, it seemed, and there was nothing much else he could say. Nothing intelligent or pragmatic that would make it easier.

So, it was tough on all of them, watching one of their little bulletproof gang suffering, and it didn't feel much like Christmas.

\---

He couldn't feel anything, really, once they made the decision. Everyone knew it was the thing to do, but none of them wanted it to be - to leave her there at night, surrounded by all the technology in the world that couldn't change the inevitable, now.

And Patrick was just there, always, no matter what time or what he needed, or even if he'd been asked. Buying books on how to explain bereavement to children, organising grief counselling because Joe couldn't bring himself to book it, afraid of what it meant. He was there the night she passed, but a thousand miles away, taking care of Teddy. A voice on the line that he didn't feel he had to be strong for, who contacted Pete and Bob to let them know Joe wasn't going to be flying to London, insisted that he stay there with his dad and Sam.

And he was there in person for the service, the day after the show, exhausted by the end of the night but determined to see it out. The other two had flown back with him on the first flight of the day, when they realised what he was doing, and they'd sat at the table unobtrusively, shadowy patronuses in black suits.

But when it was done and they flew him back home - Pete and Patrick on either side of him on the plane, flanking him through the airport like guardian angels at his shoulders - he felt better; the numbness was gone and its hollowness had backfilled with grief, but it felt better. Natural, he thought. Still, it seemed unnatural when the same sun rose every morning and she wasn't there to sit in its golden light on the rug in her craft room and meditate with it. He'd thought her habits kooky as a teenager, but he copied her, some mornings, now, on the grass in Patrick's garden, in the warm California mornings before Teddy woke.

Because he couldn't bring himself to leave, was the thing. He didn't want to go back to his apartment, even with Ted to keep him company, and think alone in the middle of the night. He wanted to be where Patrick was, constantly, so as not to waste any time. He couldn't really think of any good reasons for leaving, and Patrick always looked so happy when he suggested they put Teddy to bed in the guest room, that he kept on asking even after it became obvious that they were going nowhere tonight - or tomorrow - or the next night, just to see him smile. 

He texted his dad, one morning, to tell him - he understood, now, why he'd turned down lucrative conference speaking opportunities, because he didn't want to be away from home all those times. And his dad had replied immediately, the snappiest and truest clapback.

_ It wasn't that. I just knew if I left her alone long enough I'd wind up with another of her sweaters _ .

He'd laughed, explosive and real, so that both Patrick and Ted turned to look at him from the floor in front of the TV; and he'd shown Patrick the message, enjoyed the guilty and knowing splutter of mirth that had escaped him before he buried his face in Joe's shoulder, holding on to him tight.

It was only later that he realised when he showed Patrick the message from his father, he'd also shown him what he'd written to prompt it. 

_ I don't ever want to not be here with him. _

They didn't discuss it, at first, it just sat between them like a packet of cookies they both wanted to eat, but were both too polite to open. After all, they already had their plan: six months. He could wait for the six months to be up; he just didn't really want to, anymore. It felt arbitrary, now, because too much had happened in the intervening months that made it seem inconsequential.

They were in Australia when they finally addressed it - or, on a plane headed there for festivals - and it was Valentine's Day, except it wasn't, because they'd crossed the international date line (a fact that had brought about many puns in itself) and were a day ahead of themselves.

"You realise you don't get to use the fact we missed a day as an excuse not to take me out for a fancy dinner, right?" Joe asked idly, lolling his head back against his seat while Patrick tapped at his laptop.

"Who says  _ I'm _ taking  _ you _ ?" Patrick asked, absently. 

"I beat you out in the 'I love you' dealio, and this is our first Valentine's Day - you're slacking."

Patrick sat up and frowned at him, tight-lipped. "Well, how am I supposed to compete with that? I'm never getting a second chance to be first."

"I told you, you buy me dinner," Joe replied, adjusting his neck pillow with one eyebrow arched at him. "Australian Asian fusion is awesome."

"Sure, I totally believe that'll be the end of it."

"Gonna have to wait and see, aren't you?" Joe grinned, closing his eyes. 

But it was an hour later, as Patrick climbed back into his seat, scrambling over Joe's legs to drop into place with a huff and shuffled around until he was comfortable, that he bothered to reply.

"Okay," he started, purposefully. "Okay, I was thinking -"

"I could tell, you were in there ages."

"Yeah, well. It's a long flight. Whatever. Anyway. Here's the thing - we've -" he dropped his voice and meerkated over the adjacent seats to see if anyone was listening. Apparently satisfied, he ducked down conspiratorially and started again. "We've been dancing around this whole thing, and it's kind of lame, so - I'm gonna do it."

"Right," Joe nodded seriously, voice hushed, "I wondered how long it would take to get to it. Neither of us like the 'tingly' lube and we should just throw it out."

"What?! No! Or… well, yeah, we should - but also not that, Joe, c'mon. No, I'm talking about a real issue, here, y'know? A real big -"

"Fish."

Patrick pointed at him sharply, lips puffed into little rolls of  _ I'm trying really hard not to laugh at you _ . "Y'know, I'm starting to second guess this…"

Joe smiled at him, at the annoyance on his face - forced or otherwise - and caught the hand wedged under the tip of his nose as Patrick poked at him, and held it. "Sorry. I'll listen. What's your big reveal?"

There was a little pink flush along the top of his cheeks, now, and he took a deep breath as he sank back into his seat. "I was just thinking, y'know? Maybe it's… well, it's not actually a question of time, it's about what I want - because I feel like we've tested this thing out enough and now I want to put it into practice, y'know?"

Joe's heart started to skitter a little, anticipating what he felt sure was coming. He squeezed Patrick's hand a little tighter.

"So, when we get back, would you and Teddy like to move in with me?"

He couldn't answer right away - partly because he needed to not sound like a teenager girl getting asked to prom, and partly because it was cute and funny to watch him squirm.

"'Cause I was thinking, y'know, the other guest room is perfect for him if I clear it all out, and we could get it decorated - we could actually decorate the whole place, if you wanted, you've always been way more into interior design than I have, so… But, y'know, if you don't want to, that's fine too, I just wanted to - to -" He stopped and looked at Joe worriedly. "What?"

And Joe tried to lean in and kiss him by way of an answer, but his pillow half-choked him and he yanked it off awkwardly to give it another go.

"Jesus, get a restroom!" Andy muttered between the seats. "I'm not watching you two necking for five more hours."

Joe shoved his hand between the seats to flip him off, grinning as Patrick snuck another kiss, and then momentarily worrying that his hand was stuck.

"So, anyway," he said, as he pinched Patrick's cheek and sat back, "thanks, but nah."

He looked at him out of the corner of his eye, watching him look fleetingly horrified, and then snort a giggle as he realised that Joe was kidding. " _ Asshole _ ."

"But you love me. You said it, no backsies."

"I do, for some reason… So, y'know, I'd really like it if you and Ted did come and live with me."

"Hmmm. Well, I mean I guess. Most of his toys are there already…"

Patrick quirked an eyebrow at him and adjusted his glasses as he opened his laptop back up. "So are yours."

Behind them, Andy's book slapped shut pointedly.

"If you think you can like, cope with Captain Picky Eater and never having a space where you just junk everything you don't have a place for, then sure. I mean, we've kind of been stealth-moving-in the whole time, anyway. I was just kind of waiting for you to notice."

"Oh, I totally noticed and am in no way using this to make sure we're even  _ at all _ ."

Joe laughed and put the pillow back around his neck so he could catch a couple of hours sleep before they landed, his headphones flipping through the tracks on his phone at random. When he woke again, bleary in the blue cabin light, Patrick had pushed up the arm of the seat and curled in beside him, apparently unconcerned by who noticed.

\---

"Are you nervous?" Joe asked, suspiciously, and Patrick shook his head vigorously, but said nothing because then it wasn't strictly a lie. "Ric, he's not even four, he doesn't really get a say in who I'm with… I'm not gonna let him veto it if he throws a tantrum."

Patrick squeezed the steering wheel, watching his knuckles whiten, and then sighed and let it go. They weren't even going to tell him until they got him back to Patrick's, they were just picking him up from Chrissie's, and she already knew. There was nothing to be freaking out about, but he was. He didn't want there to be a tantrum; to be the one to make Teddy upset or confused, he just wanted it all to magically come together and it all to be sunny and happy and fine.

On the way home they took him for ice cream, letting him pick four flavours and cover it in candy sprinkles, in a glass the size of a cereal bowl. It was supposed to put him in a good mood, but mostly it turned him into a sugar-fuelled maniac and they had to play lions pretending to eat him up after chasing him around the living room for half an hour before they could get him to sit still long enough to have any kind of real conversation.

"Hey, Ted of the Jungle," Joe started, when he laid himself face-down across the ottoman, out of breath, "you wanna come sit with Dad a minute?"

"No."

"Oh, well, that's too bad because -" he grasped him under the tummy with both hands and twirled him around so his arms fanned out like propellers, "- sometimes we've got to do things we don't wanna do. Isn't that right, Patrick?" He dropped him to bounce on the sofa cushions, squealing with laughter, and then collapsed down next to him, tickling his tummy. Patrick watched, smiling down at them, until Joe gave him a meaningful glare and pointed at the couch cushion at Teddy's feet.

He'd almost hoped Joe would get carried away and just tell him, without Patrick needing to add anything, but he exhaled, long and juddery and sank down where he was told.

"So, little dude," Joe started again, letting Teddy stand up on the seat and then grabbing him around the waist to pull him down to sit on his lap, "we wanna ask you something."

"I didn't do it."

Patrick bit his lip and looked out of the window so as not to laugh.

"Yeah, sure, I bet it was Spider-Man, like last time, right?"

"No, Batman," Teddy informed him.

"And what would Batman say if I asked who did it? Whatever 'it' is?"

Teddy gave him a sneaky, gremlin-like grin and pressed all his fingers to his mouth. "Teddy done it."

"I am really scared to ask what 'it' is, so I'm gonna wait until we had this conversation, but it better not be my stuff in the toilet again."

"Ted," Patrick cut in, knowing that this would take all night if he didn't intervene, "me and your dad want to tell you something nice."

"Right!" Joe added, hurriedly getting back to the matter in hand, although he kept casting uneasy glances at the bathroom door in the hall, opposite. "That's right, so. You like Patrick a lot, right?"

Teddy looked at Patrick and cocked is head, then beamed cheekily, and there was a photo that used to sit on the mantle at Joe's parents' old house, of him at four, and it was as though the same image had come alive, but squishier and blonder. "We're musky-gears."

"Mus-ket-eers, dopey."

"I  _ said  _ mouse-cat-ears!" Teddy snapped, slapping his own knee with his hand.

"Wow, okay, I can be a musky-gear, it doesn't matter," Patrick said, quickly, afraid of riling the dragon, because he remembered the screaming twos, but the opinionated fours were looming darkly on the horizon and now didn't feel like the time to poke him over trivialities. "But I like you a lot, too. And I really, really like Daddy."

"And Daddy really, really likes Patrick," Joe added. They'd agreed that expecting Teddy to think of him as an 'uncle' might confuse things, and they'd started to phase it out.

Teddy's expression was starting to look suspicious, though, as he glanced between them. 

"And the thing is, that sometimes grown ups make really special friends. Like, really special. And they decide that they wanna see what it would be like if they thought about getting married, one day."

Patrick cast him a startled glance. That wasn't in the script. How was he supposed to know which parts he needed to tell him, if Joe went off-book? "Uh. Sure, yeah… and they might cuddle and hold hands like mommies and daddies -"

"Or daddies and daddies, or mommies and mommies, or mommies-who-"

"Okay, right now, we're just explaining the one thing, man, don't complicate the issue. All of that stuff is great, but baby steps, y'know?"

"We're having babies?!" Teddy gasped, looking at once offended and fascinated.

"No, silly bear - no babies. Not right now, anyway…" Joe cast Patrick a wink over the top of Teddy's head and Patrick immediately lost all sense of what they were talking about.

"Um…"

"But the thing we're trying to tell you, little buddy, is that Daddy and Patrick love each other, very much. And we love you, too," Joe said, poking him in his little belly to punctuate the point. "And Mommy loves you lots, and Mommy and Daddy think Patrick is really nice and would be a nice extra part of our family. Is that okay?"

For a moment, Teddy blinked at them. And then he pouted. And then he pressed both hands to his knees and looked up at Joe seriously. "Yeah, I guess."

"Aw, thank you, Teddy," Patrick said, and he'd expected to be choked up if Teddy said yes, but he'd done so with such an air of, 'Why is this my problem?' that he mostly just wanted to laugh.

They didn't really tell Teddy about moving in together, they just spent a little more time at the apartment, boxing up essentials while he was asleep and sneaking them into the car and then into the house, so he didn't ask questions. They kind of hoped that before long, he'd forget they ever lived at the apartment at all.

Joe almost seemed to have forgotten, because he settled right in like he was responsible for the whole place, and Patrick tried not to take it personally when he gradually deep-cleaned every room and started to find places for things that had always lived artlessly discarded on the same surface. In truth, he didn't really mind. He was almost thirty-one, and for the first time he wasn't dreading the birthday as another yardstick of failure in terms of what he'd accomplished before the latest milestone.

When he went to bed every night, he slept beside him, or wrapped around him, or occasionally a little under him. And on the weekends, when Teddy woke them up, they'd all sit in bed and watch cartoons - or cooking shows, which Teddy was growing inexplicably drawn to. It was lazy and it was goofy, but it was perfect.

It was Patrick who thought up the idea, right before Teddy's fourth birthday. They'd already planned the teddy bears' tea party in the garden and Chrissie was coming with Jan and Derek, and Richard was flying in and would be staying in the guest room for a few days, and Pete and Meagan were bringing Saint - who was  _ standing _ , now, which seemed crazy - and there would be little kids from preschool, including the little girl that Teddy always talked about. Patrick had gone into full party-planning mode, determined to make it a good one - the kind he'd look back at photos of when he was in his twenties and say  _ I remember that _ .

But the real idea wasn't the party, and it wasn't Grandpa Dick coming down to stay, it was the second guest room at the end of the hall, which they'd been keeping locked and getting a friend of Pete's to paint a mural on, while Teddy was in school every day for a week. A wall of rolling fields and bouncing confectionery and what might not necessarily have been intended to be a cross-eyed cow. But Joe had fallen in love with it the moment he saw it, so now it had to stay there, cross-eyed and ridiculous.

He'd ordered furniture, too, showing Joe his ideas and letting him talk him out of the cabin bed with the climbing wall, in favour of the one with the slide. And if assembling flat-pack furniture together hadn't driven them to murder, then he was pretty sure that all of the other crap that life could throw at them was cakewalk in comparison.

On the morning that Teddy turned four, before he was even awake, they climbed out of bed and put on party hats, the little whistle streamers tucked into the corner of their mouths, and crept into the guest room.

Teddy sat bolt upright at the first honk of Joe's streamer and looked at them both, open mouthed.

"I'M FOUR!"

Patrick very narrowly avoided swallowing his as he laughed at him, and scooped him out of bed, still in the Wonder Woman pyjamas he'd insisted on buying in Target, much to Joe's joy, to take him to find his presents.

"Ted," he said, stopping outside the door, and pointing out the foam letters stuck to it, "what does this say?"

He frowned.

"What's this one?" Patrick asked, pointing at the 'T'. Teddy told him. "And what's this?" 'E'. "And what comes after 'e'?"

"Anxiety, fatigue and occasionally hallucinations…"

Patrick elbowed Joe in the stomach and cast him a reprimanding look.

"Is Ted!" Teddy said thoughtfully, and then seemed to absorb what it meant. "IS TEDDY'S ROOM?!"

"It's Teddy's room!" Patrick told him, opening the door to show him the colourful space and the pile of wrapped presents in the middle of the floor.

Teddy shrieked. He stood in the doorway, doing a little dance of excitement, seemingly unable to process it all, and shrieked like a banshee being murdered on a rollercoaster. And Joe was behind them both, doubled over with laughter, knees together, like he was trying not to pee his pants. It was almost as though the hysteria was winding Teddy up - like a spring-powered toy car whirring as it was dragged back along a table, ready to release - because he ran at the bed to get on the slide, and then stopped next to his presents, dithering as if fighting his priorities.

And when Joe finally got his shit together enough to follow him into the room and sit down beside the pile of presents, he managed to convince Teddy to join him and pick out the one he wanted to open first. He looked so bewildered and happy and overwhelmed, unable to believe all of this was for him. But he was going to have to get used to being spoiled.

From the door, Patrick watched them; his best dudes. His goofy little family. It felt almost like his birthday, to have them both there - for Teddy to be so thrilled with his room that he'd almost blown a gasket and for Joe to be laughing and full of joy, in a way he hadn't been for what seemed like a long time. It was everything Patrick had hoped it would be, and it occurred to him, in that moment, to record it - to get a photo at least - and he ducked out to get his phone.

He only had to go as far as his dresser to pick it up, but when he returned, Teddy was sitting in Joe's lap, pulled close while he whispered in his ear, and he was giggling. His tiny, peggy white teeth all on show as he unsuccessfully covered his mouth as though he was the one telling the secret.

"What're you two naughty boys up to?" Patrick asked, trying to get his camera app to open.

"We not naughty boys! We're good boys!"

"We're dogs?" Joe asked, ruffling his hair, but Teddy didn't get it. "Hey, Ted, don't you have something you want to say?"

Grinning, Teddy nodded and scrambled off Joe's lap and on to his feet, rushing at Patrick so he almost took his leg out from under him, but holding on to it tight. 

"Thank you, Daddy."

Patrick blinked and looked down at him, unsure, and then over at Joe, who smiled at him encouragingly and nodded.

"I said ' _ thank you, Daddy _ '!" Teddy repeated, raising his voice a little to make sure he'd been heard, and Patrick tugged his pudgy hands away from his leg so he could crouch down in front of him and crush him tight in the beariest of hugs.

"You're welcome, Teddy Bear," he said, kissing his forehead and pinching his nose; blinking away the prickling feeling in his eyes. And when he looked over at Joe, he was swiping at his cheek with the palm of his hand.

"I just put in these contacts, you jerk…"

"It was your own doing," Patrick retorted, ushering Teddy back into the room to finish opening his presents, and leaning down to kiss him quickly, as he sat down.

"Actually," Joe said, catching his hand and pulling at him, to make him sit nearer, "it wasn't my idea, it was yours, but he was the one who picked up on it. He's been asking me when he could call you 'daddy' since we gave him the talk. I just told him to save it until a really good time, basically. This seemed like a kind of awesome one."

When they went to bed, that night, Teddy in his big new cabin bunk and Richard in the guest room, Patrick wrapped himself around Joe with his face pressed against the back of his shoulder, and whispered, "So, it's my birthday next month…"

"I know," Joe replied, shifting on the pillow and catching Patrick's hand to pull his arm around him more tightly. "I didn't forget - one birthday at a time, dude, they're fucking exhausting..."

Patrick gave a sleepy hum of a laugh again his skin and rubbed his toes along the back of his calf. "Well, I guess that's okay," he said, yawning and stroking his fingers with his thumb, "because I was just going to say that I think I have everything I could possibly want."

"Well, that's kind of a pity," Joe told him, with an edge of a tease in his voice, "because if you have everything you could possibly want, I don't know what I'm gonna do with the subscription to Bad Dragon."

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyric credits:
> 
>  **Part 1** \- Press to MECO - _A Quick Fix_  
>  **Part 2** \- Biffy Clyro - _Saturday Superhouse_  
>  **Part 3** \- Prince - _With You_  
>  **Part 4** \- Sharon Van Etten - _Give Out_  
>  **Part 5** \- Bob Marley - _Is This Love?_  
>  **Part 6** \- Madonna - _Cherish_.
> 
> Title from the Don Broco song of the same name.
> 
> _Don't google 'Bad Dragon' on the work computer._

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Flow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16779109) by [heyginger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyginger/pseuds/heyginger)




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